The Past is a Different Land
by Kes Cross
Summary: Colby's past catches up with him, and the Agencies are fighting for his loyalty. An arms deal goes sour and players on both sides start dying...Reviews very much appreciated, first time Numb3rs writer
1. Chapter 1

It was always the same

It was always the same. Didn't matter how many times you went into a situation like this, your heart would pound. You were dealing with unknowns. Unknown number of perps behind the door. Unknown number of weapons trained on you as you take those all-important steps through the door. Charlie's math skills were no use here. Too many variables.

David nodded and Colby indicated to the SWAT boys – the crowbar wrenched the deadlock out of joint and the battering ram hammered the claws home, shattering the wood like a tooth under a hammer.

"FBI!"

The men burst in through the door, ready for anything.

But Colby wasn't ready for her…

The perps tried to react – after all, these were professionals and they weren't going to go down without a fight. The woman, long red hair pulled back in a plait that ran down her back like a second spine, was fast. Abnormally fast. She spat an expletive at the agents and without even blinking, double tapped the Browning, aiming just left of Colby's head. Deliberately missing.

There was that much confusion in the room that she almost got away. Colby stood, stunned, staring at her. For a second their eyes locked. She winked at him, spun and darted through the doorway. "One more step and I'll drop you! Freeze!" Don had heard the gunshot. He wasn't taking any chances. The woman froze, surrounded by the team and their backup SWAT unit. Slowly she raised her hands, letting the gun drop, spinning from her fingers. A lazy smile crept across her lips…

XXXXXXXXX

They'd loaded the last of the arm's dealers into the van and David slammed the door closed. He was doing mental backflips. What the hell had Colby been thinking? In all their time as partners, he had never frozen on him like that. Never. Not once. So what the hell?

"Colby? A word?" David motioned to his partner and they walked to a quiet spot. "Okay, wanna tell me what just happened?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know? C'mon, man! Don't give me that bullshit! You were like a goddamn deer in the headlights in there!"

"I…I just wasn't expecting her."

"What, the red-headed bitch who tried to blow your head off? You know her?"

"Yes."

"Am I gonna get any more than that outta you?"

Silence.

All the trust that David had tried to rebuild in his partner started to crack inside. It was the Chinese case all over again. "Colby…"

"She's Agency…"

XXXXXXXX

"So explain this to me again." Don ran his hand through his hair. Secrets time all over again. Just when he thought he was getting his team back to some semblance of normality. Just when he thought… "We've just busted an arms deal wide open and you're telling me that the woman is CIA?"

Colby nodded. "She's with the Company. Has been for about four years."

"Another one of your spy friends?" Don hadn't meant it. He'd spoken without thinking and he could see that the barb had stuck. Colby practically flinched. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Trust me. She's no friend of mine."

"Okay. So let's see what the hell she was doing there, shall we?" He crooked a finger at Colby. "You're coming in with me. I have a feeling your presence may mean that we get closer to the truth. Even if she doesn't want to put out." He stood up, a look of dark determination on his face. Colby had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Just an ordinary field agent. That's all he'd wanted to be. Just get back to normal. Now this…

The woman sat serenely at the table, her eyes closed, a look of almost Zen-like peace on her face. She didn't move as the two agents entered the room. Colby took up station in the corner, his arms folded across his chest. Let Don take the lead. Just see where this goes…

"I'm Special Agent Don Eppes. This is my colleague…"

"Colby Granger. Yes. I know." She smiled and opened her eyes. Her head moved towards Colby and she nodded. "Hello, CJ. Good to see you're still fit and well. Nasty business with the Chinese, old son. Messy. Very, very messy."

Don looked surprised. The woman's accent was British; soft and low but with a clear hint of a London accent. He studied the woman. She was tall, powerfully built, with startlingly green eyes. A mischievous smile was itching to burst from the corners of her mouth. She was playing with them.

"Sorry about taking a pot-shot at you like that, CJ. Had to make it look convincing."

"You nearly blew his goddamn head off!"

"Don't be ridiculous. I missed, didn't I?"

Don opened his mouth to speak, but Colby interrupted him. "If she'd wanted to kill me, Don, I'd be dead. Perhaps I should introduce you." He pushed himself away from the wall and stood next to Don, his eyes never leaving hers. "This is Colonel Christine Dixon. British military intelligence. Seconded to the CIA what…" He looked to the woman for confirmation.

"Four years ago."

Colby glared at the woman. "Four years. Wanna tell us what you were doing in there, Colonel?"

"I would, but it's classified."

Don frowned. "Classified…"

"As in if I told you, I'd have to kill you." Christine let out a short laugh. "Gentlemen, you have just managed to royally screw up a case we've been working on for the past two years. Do you have any bloody idea how long it took me to build up my legend? How long it's taken me to get to that point before you and your gun-happy comrades came scissor-kicking their way through the fucking door?" The playful smile vanished in an instant and the green eyes darkened. "Just how much work has just gone spinning down the crapper because of your over-enthusiastic ineptitude?"

Don glanced at Colby who shrugged. "I think she's pissed at us."

Don re-directed his attention back at the woman. "You have any proof other than my colleague identifying you? Any ID?"

Christine frowned. "Wow. They still don't trust you, do they CJ? Damn, that's gotta smart. And no, Agent Eppes, I'm not in the habit of carrying my ID when I'm working undercover. It's not a particularly bright thing to do. But I should imagine that the phone call your director is taking…" she glanced at her watch, "oh, right about, _now_, will probably confirm what I've told you. I suggest you go and consult with him. Or her. Or whatever. But either way, prepare yourself for an arse-chewing of biblical proportions if I were you." She fell silent. Don could feel the knot of frustration in his stomach, the same knot he felt every time he had to deal with spook central and the cloak and dagger brigade. It wasn't his world. He understood the criminal underbelly of Los Angeles. That was tangible, it was real. This? It was all smoke and mirrors. Lies, double-lies and deceit. Colby's world…

He spun on his heels and walked out of the room, slamming the door, not waiting for Colby to follow him. Colby stared at the door and back at the woman. She smiled half-heartedly. "I really am sorry about taking that shot at you. But you understand…"

"You had to make it convincing, yeah. Sure. I'm convinced, okay?"

"It wasn't for your benefit. It was for theirs. If they had the slightest inclination that I was Agency, a lot of people would begin dying in the next twenty-four hours, me included. This way they still think I'm on the level. Mind you, it's going to be a bit of a roulette game for a while." She shrugged. "So, anyway. How ya been, CJ?"

Colby could have snapped. He could have raged at the woman, all the frustration and paranoia of the last two years, all the torture, the agony of lying to his friends, the tearing down of the relationships he had worked so hard to build – all of that rage suddenly focused on this smart-mouthed English bitch. He bit his lip hard, turned and walked out of the room. Before he had a chance to tear her head from her shoulders…

Megan watched through the one way glass as Colby walked silently out of the room. You didn't need Spidy-senses to detect the waves of emotion coming from Colby. Even David could see it. "She sure knows how to press buttons," he growled. "Can't we just bust her ass out and hand her over to emigration as an illegal or something?"

"That would be nice, wouldn't it? Probably not do-able though." Megan studied the woman. "Psychotic."

"That's your professional opinion?" David chuckled.

"No. My _professional_ opinion is that she's batshit crazy!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Don wanted to slam the door as he walked out of the director's office, but he kept his emotions in check. The phonecall had happened exactly as the woman had said it would. The ass-chewing was right on cue. Immediate release. No further questions. And hope to God that the Agency didn't insist on an internal enquiry. He walked towards the elevator and pressed the button, leaning on the wall as he waited for the doors to open. "Damn it!" The doors pinged, opening slowly. He glanced up. Colby stood in the lift. "Don't say a word, okay?" Don walked into the elevator and punched the button.

They travelled down in silence for a few seconds. Colby spoke quietly. "She was negotiating a shipment with a group known to the NSA and the Agency. They've been working on this for months, Don. We've really screwed up this time…"

Don suddenly hit the stop button and spun around, angrily facing Colby. "We've screwed up? WE'VE screwed up? They were the ones that decided to do a major shakedown without telling us what the fuck was going on! Them, Colby, not us! Perhaps you should remember who you work for now, huh?" A stony silence filled the elevator. Colby's jaw twitched.

"You gonna throw that in my face every damn time, Don? Because if you are…"

Don held his hand up in submission. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Second time today, Don. Getting old, ya know? If you don't trust me, then why the hell did you keep me on the team? Maybe I should've taken that job in DC after all, huh?" Colby's eyes were filled with pain. Don knew he'd hurt the man deeply.

"Colby, look. This spy shit makes me nervous. Okay? It's…it's just not my world. The thought of it makes me…I dunno. Look, I promise you. I'll never use that as a weapon against you again. You have my word on that. And god help anyone else who throws it at you as well. They'll have me to answer to. Okay? Are we good? I mean, are we okay here?" The silence flooded back. Colby nodded curtly and slowly, deliberately pressed the start button. The elevator jolted back to life and they travelled down the rest of the way in silence…

XXXXXXXX

The two men were waiting for Don and Colby as they walked into the office. Megan threw Don a "Where the HELL have you been!" look and Don stopped, eyeing up the two men. "Let me guess. Reader's Digest…"

"Agent Eppes…"

"_Special _Agent Eppes." Don put emphasis on the title.

"Hey, whatever makes you feel good about yourself." The man flickered a smile at him. "Special Agent Eppes? I believe you have a woman by the name of Christine Dixon in custody."

"I'm guessing not any more." Don put his hands on his hips, his body language confrontational. The two men flipped open their ID's and Don raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "CIA, huh? Wow, you get those fake ID's with the sunglasses?"

"You're a funny man, Agent Eppes." The deliberate omission of his full title was purely to antagonise Don. It worked. "Miss Dixon?"

"Colonel Dixon is in interview room two. Colby? David? Would you be so kind as to show these two _gentlemen_ where they can pick up their colleague and then escort them off the premises? And I mean, _right off_? Thank you." He turned away, pointedly ignoring the two spooks.

A look passed between David and Colby. David decided to let Colby take the lead on this one. These bums gave him the creeps…

Five minutes later, the four men and one woman emerged from the front of the building. "Thank you agents, we can take it from here. Your co-operation has been appreciated."

David smirked. "Seriously? You people actually _say_ that?"

One spook looked at Colby. "That job in DC is still open, Agent Granger. Think about it, would you?" Colby's hands balled into fists and David laid a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder. The spook smiled and slipped his sunglasses on. "Good day, gentle…"

A puff of cement dust at his feet was the first clue. The second was the spot of red that appeared in the middle of his crisp, white shirt. He looked surprised and his legs buckled. Colby shoved David hard towards a low wall as chaos suddenly erupted around them…

"SNIPER!"

TBC…


	2. A world of Hurt

A world of hurt

A world of hurt

Disclaimer: Don't own Numb3rs or any of the characters therein – character of Christine Dixon and story are mine, allllllllllll miiiiine!

A-hem…

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"On the roof! Two o'clock!" The crowd outside the building had scattered and the scream of sirens was already filling the air. A sniper attack on the federal building was enough to bring the LAPD running like Olympic sprinters. David, crouched behind a low wall that ran around the front of the entrance, had his gun drawn and was frantically scanning the skyline, looking for the sniper. Colby, back against the wall on the opposite side of the main walkway, had left his gun holstered. He knew that at this distance, a handgun would be useless. Christine Dixon crouched beside him, a look of fury on her face. Colby muttered darkly.

"Where the hell is Ian when you need him?"

"Ian Edgerton?"

Colby snapped his head around and stared hard at the woman, a look of surprise on his face. "Let me guess…"

"Oh, he's done some work for us on occasion." Christine frowned. "You didn't just hear me say that, CJ, okay?"

"Whatever." Colby cautiously peeped around the corner of the wall and pulled his head back in quickly. "Your two guys are down." The matter-of-fact statement was greeted with a grunt from Christine.

"I told you, didn't I?"

"I'm sorry."

"Time for that later. Right now we've got to get this son of a bitch under control."

"SWAT are here." He glanced towards his partner. "You okay?"

David nodded and indicated with the barrel of his gun to the building opposite. Colby frowned and shook his head. The building was too well guarded. He indicated right, to a smaller building half a block away. "Our man's up there." The years of training in the Rangers and with the Agency had given Colby a chilling intuition on sniper positioning. There was nothing they could do. Until they had a definite fix on the bastard, they were stuck here, pinned down. Colby watched the SWAT unit fan out quickly and efficiently. They knew what they were doing. All he and his partner could do now was wait it out. He scanned the plaza in front of the building. Everyone had managed to scramble to safety and the clean stone square was devoid of life. People had taken cover wherever they could. The only ones left out in the open now were the two CIA agents, lying dead on the steps leading down to the main pathway. A crimson pool of blood spread across the steps, staining the cream coloured flagstones. Colby turned back. They may have been assholes, but they didn't deserve that…

Colby's cell-phone chirruped. He scrabbled inside his pocket and pulled it out, flipping it open. Don's voice was clipped and sharp. "_What's happening?"_

"Sniper on the Lehman Brother's building. The two Agency guys are down. David's okay, so's Christine. I'm guessing he was aiming for her."

"_You okay, Col?"_

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Looks like we could be here for a while though. Any chance of sending out some coffee?" He let a flicker of a smile pass his lips.

"_Stay put. SWAT are moving in now. As soon as we get the all clear, I'll get you that coffee."_

Colby chuckled and snapped the phone shut. He glanced over at David and shrugged. David shot a look towards the building and, scuttling like a crab, made a dash for the wall that shielded Colby and Christine. He threw himself down next to his partner, his back pressed hard against the wall. David looked at his handgun and rolled his eyes. "Like that's gonna be any damn use at this range." He holstered his gun. "Okay, so now what?"

"We've got to make that bastard show his hand. Get a direct fix on him for SWAT." Colby glanced again at Christine, who seemed to be taking the whole situation with remarkable serenity. As if getting pinned down by a sniper was an everyday occurrence for her. Colby frowned. Probably was an everyday goddamn occurrence for her… He estimated the distance to the foyer of the federal building. No more than twenty feet. Trouble was, the building was in automatic lock-down. Nobody could get in or out of the front entrance. He swore quietly under his breath and glanced to his right. The low wall ran almost to the corner of the building, where it met a perfectly clipped box hedge. He had to get Christine and his partner out of range. Colby made his mind up quickly. He pointed to the corner of the building. "You two, down there and around. I'll draw his fire."

"What are you, nuts?" David stared in disbelief at his partner. "You couldn't hit him from here, I don't care how damn good you are with that gun!"

"I know. But SWAT are in position and we have to know where the bastard is. Go!" He shoved David hard and, taking a deep breath, stood up quickly, his gun already pointing towards the Lehman building. David and Christine belly crawled quickly along the perimeter of the wall, scrabbling the last few steps as Colby fired randomly towards the sniper's outpost. His gunshots were met with a distant pop and a puff of cement as a bullet embedded itself in the wall next to him. He dropped. Job done. SWAT had their target. He re-holstered his gun and followed his partner and the woman to the corner of the building. "GO!" He pushed the two of them in front of him as they made a last, desperate, crouching run to get around the corner of the building. Once they had turned the corner, they didn't stop. It was up to SWAT now to take the sniper out. His hand resting on David's back and still bent, they ran to the side entrance of the building. The guard inside instantly reacted to David's badge and pushed down on the emergency lock, letting them in. The door slammed behind them and they stopped, finally allowing themselves to breathe normally.

David, his hands on his knees and his head bowed, glanced up at his partner. "What the HELL were you thinking!"

"You're welcome." Colby ran a hand through his hair and glared at Christine. "You're game of roulette just got nasty, Chris."

Christine glared back. "Ya _think_?" She pulled out a cell-phone and hit a speed-dial number. Moving away from the two agents, she talked quietly into the phone. Colby focused on his partner. David shook his head and began walking towards the elevator…

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Don was in no mood to crack jokes. And he was certainly in no mood to play mind-games with the woman. Megan watched from the corner of the room, picking up on every emotion, every tell, every change in body position. Don was lashing out. First target was Colby.

"That was a dumb-assed move, Granger. I told you to stay put."

Colby met his stare. "Staying put wouldn't have helped. We had to flush him out…"

"At the risk of your own damn _life_?" Don threw his hands in the air and turned away from Colby. He spun back and stabbed a finger at him. "You ever, _ever _disobey a direct order again…"

"It won't happen again." Colby's quietly spoken platitude was purely for Don's sake. Don knew damn well that Colby would do exactly the same thing again in a heartbeat if he had to. That's what he admired in the man most. He'd got his partner and the target safely out of the kill-zone. SWAT reported back that they'd found some empty casings and a few scuff marks on the roof. Forensic were over there now, combing the site for evidence. The sniper and his gun were long gone. Don focused his attention on the woman.

"So."

She glanced up. "What do you want me to say?"

"How about some kind of an explanation?"

"It's not FBI business."

Don exploded. "Not FBI business? Not FBI fucking _business?_ I've got two dead CIA agents on the steps of a federal building and my people in the line of fire!" He scowled furiously at the woman. "Ya know? That _kinda _MAKES it my business now!"

"And _I've _got two dead colleagues, Agent Eppes! The sniper was aiming for me. Not your people."

"Irrelevant."

"No, Agent Eppes, utterly relevant. Your people are in no more danger from this operation than they were yesterday. Your part in this is done."

"No, no, lady, my part in this is _not_ done. It's just beginning."

"I beg to differ."

Colby interjected quickly, attempting to prevent a full-blown war between the two agencies. "Don, listen. That guy out there was aiming for her and her people."

"He aimed at _you_, Col."

"Granted. But he missed. Waddya know, second time today," mused the man. "Anyway, Chris, I agree with Don. You owe us an explanation, if nothing else, you owe _me_." He crossed his arms and stared hard at the woman. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Okay. That little soiree you burst in on this morning was a deal for a shipment of two hundred semi automatic rifles. M16's, Klakers, XM8's, all high-calibre stuff. It was a sweetener deal. The main deal was going to be for surface to air missiles. The goon squad you arrested were just middlemen. The big name behind this is Sharif al Kalir. He's been on our watch list for three years. I've been working my way up the ladder and was _this fucking close _to making first contact!" She slammed her hand angrily down on the desk. "Now? Well, _now, _Agent Eppes, we're back to square one. And I might as well walk around with a goddamn target on my back from now on, hadn't I?"

"The sniper was one of his?"

"Oh, now, hmm. Let me think. I know, how about _yes_?" Megan picked up on the frustration in the woman's voice. It wasn't hard. The London accent had become stronger. The woman took a breath and continued. "Kalir has been running with a former Soviet Bloc outfit out of Afghanistan for a while now. Black market ex-communist heavy artillery. He sells to the highest bidder, regardless of politics. You'd be surprised how much of your urban decay these people are responsible for. If you hadn't have busted the operation wide open, I might just have been inclined to throw you a few titbits to sweeten the pot."

"Oh, how generous of you!"

The woman's head dropped and she was silent for a moment. Slowly she looked up. "Look. I've had a bitch of a day and I've just lost two bloody good men, Agent Eppes. So. Here's the deal. You back off this crew and I'll give you a file that'll improve your clear-up stats by a nice little percentage. How's that sound? A bit of inter-agency co-operation?"

Don folded his arms and sat on the corner of the desk. "I'm listening."

"Good. Wise. Very wise. One condition."

"Which is?"

"Colby acts as go-between."

Colby shot a look at his boss. Don met his look, puzzled. "Why Colby?"

The woman shrugged. "He's a known variable. Known to both our sides. Isn't that the kind of thing your unit likes, Agent Eppes? I'm sure your brother would approve."

Don was silent for a moment. He looked at Colby and jerked his head, indicating that Colby should follow him outside. The two men left the room and moved down the corridor. Don stopped and leaned against the wall, running his hand through his hair. He looked hard at his agent.

"Well?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"Col, they're steamrollering you. You can see that, right? Because I sure as hell can. This isn't inter-agency co-operation. This is a fucking recruitment drive!"

"We could use that intel, Don."

"There are other ways…"

"No, there isn't. Listen. She's right about the Russians. If we can get a way into that particular clique, then we've got a good chance at clearing up one hell of a lot of unsolveds. Murder, extortion, drugs, the lot." He held his hand up as Don opened his mouth to speak. "No, let me finish. You know where my loyalties lie, Don. They lie right here. Not with the Agency. There's no way they're going to drag me into that world again, okay? It didn't end well last time. They'll be expecting the CIA to keep gunning for them. If we can keep their foot soldiers busy on the ground, it'll give the Company a chance to go after Kalir again. This guy is a major league player. I'm willing to do it."

Don was silent. His concern for Colby ran deeper than just the man putting himself in the firing line again. Colby's psyche evaluation after he had recovered from the torture that had been inflicted on him, the charge of espionage, the whole damn mess, had red-flagged some serious concerns. Now? They were right back where they'd started. He looked up at the man and was met with a level, determined gaze. Colby was set on this. And Don knew the man well enough to know that there was no changing his mind on this. He sighed.

"Okay. You're sure?" Colby nodded. "Absolutely?" Colby nodded again. "Okay. But you keep me in the loop. _All the way. _No secrets, Col. Not this time. Agreed?"

"That's a given."

"_Agreed, _Col?"

A small, genuine smile flickered across Colby's lips. "Agreed. Besides, I wanna keep an eye on that bitch. I'd rather have her in front of me than behind me, know what I mean?" Colby raised an eyebrow and grinned. Don couldn't help himself. He felt his lips pull up into a smile.

"Yeah. I know…" Don pushed himself off the wall and walked back towards the room. Colby watched him for a second, that knot of uncertainty twisting in his stomach. What kind of a world of hurt had he just agreed to walk back into?

The two men walked back into the room. A new era of inter-agency co-operation had begun…

TBC…


	3. Bombshell

Bombshell **Bombshell**

Disclaimer:

Now hear this:

I own NADA to do with Numb3rs, nothing. I do, however, own the character Christine Dixon and the story. And there's NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME!

This has been a disclaimer.

That is all…

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Colby followed Don back into the meeting room. Christine Dixon was lounging in a chair, her fingers drumming impatiently on the table. She glanced up as the two men walked in.

"You've got a deal."

Christine grinned. "Of course I have." She pushed the chair back and stood up. "Good call, CJ. Happy to have you on board again."

Colby's stare was cold. "The FBI gives me my paycheck, Chris. Not you."

"Your point?"

"Do I need to spell it out for you?" Colby stood defiantly next to Don and raised an eyebrow. He voice had a dangerous edge to it. Christine widened her eyes in comic amusement.

"Oh, _right_! Gotchya. That was your attempt at saying that you're not coming back to work for us and that you're doing this grudgingly out of loyalty to your FBI buddies, yadda yadda, right? 'Cause I so got that, my friend." She grabbed the leather jacket that hung on the back of the chair and swung it onto her back. "Righty ho, then. Let's see if I can get more than ten yards this time without coming under friendly fire, huh?" She grinned and walked out of the room. As she passed Colby she glanced into his eyes. Colby frowned. There was something behind that look – something dark, threatening almost…

Don sighed in relief as she walked off down the corridor to the elevators. "I think you'd better tell me what's going on here, Col. He walked over to the door and shut it softly. Turning back, he leaned against the door with his arms crossed. Colby knew instinctively that he wasn't getting out of that room without giving his colleagues some kind of explanation. "How do you know her? And what's all the sparks going on between you two?"

"Sparks?"

"Oh, come on, Col! The looks? The furtive glances? 'Cause seriously dude, if that's spying, you both suck at it! I don't need Megan in here to tell me that this runs deeper."

Colby sat on the edge of the table. "Honestly? I don't know. It's bugging me too. I first ran into her in Afghanistan. She was still British military intelligence then. She was born and brought up in the Middle East, Don. She speaks Farsi like a native. So she was being used as an interpreter during interrogations. I found out later that she's a specialist in interrogation techniques. Ya know. A _specialist. _The Agent Edgerton of getting people to talk." Don chuckled at the reference. He knew how high Colby's regard for Ian was. "Anyhoo. I was part of an investigation out there," he paused. "I'm…I'm sorry, I can't go into details about that. It's classified." He looked momentarily concerned; worried that his candour in disclosing the details of his previous military operations would jarr against the shaky foundations of trust that he was desperately trying to build up with the team. Don reassured him.

"Hey, no biggy. I understand."

Colby sighed with relief, unable to disguise his brief loss of confidence. "Okay. Anyway, this one guy wasn't talking. Just kept on shouting in Farsi, even though we knew damn well he could speak English. So they called her in. Don, I swear to you, I don't know exactly what happened in that room, but the guy ended up spilling everything. _Everything_. Names, locations, the lot." He paused again. "And his guts. Literally." A shadow flickered across his face as a dark memory pushed its way to the surface.

Don was stunned. "You mean to tell me…"

"I'm not _telling _you anything, Don. But he didn't look too good by the time they finally carried him out of that room, ya know? The intel she got out of him meant we could clear out a group of insurgents that were pinning one of our posts in Helmund province down. She probably saved about thirty men's lives by doing what she did. I'm not saying it was right, Don. Believe me. But I…" His voice trailed off for a moment and he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Don waited. The man needed a few seconds to get his head together. Colby finally looked back up at his boss. "We were in the middle of a war, man. Shit goes down." He fiddled nervously with a pen. "That was the only time I met her. So believe me, I really don't understand why she's got this 'we're old combat buddies' thing going on. I swear I don't."

Don was silent, now deeply concerned for Colby's safety. This woman wasn't just a CIA operative, she was dangerous and probably unstable as well. With no qualms about torturing someone, probably to death. He frowned. "This damn deal better be worth the risk, Col."

Colby met Don's stare. "I hope so too, Don. I hope so too…"

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Megan had got nowhere. She slapped the pencil down and cradled her aching head in her hands. She'd even tried Google. Nothing. Not one word about Colonel Christine Dixon. Military records were sealed tighter than Fort Knox. CIA wouldn't even let her past the "Welcome to the CIA" home page. She frowned at the computer angrily. David approached her desk, holding out a cup of coffee. "Thought you looked like you could use this." She looked up and smiled, taking the offered cup.

"Thanks."

"What ya doing?"

"Trying to see if our Colonel Dixon actually exists. Guess what?"

"Nothing?"

"Less than nothing. I can't get anywhere."

David thought for a moment. "She's military, right?"

"British military, yes."

"But she's attached to our security services?"

"Yeah. That's the military for you. Some kind of Exchange student program I guess." She smiled faintly.

David perched on the edge of the desk and lowered his voice. "So surely the NSA or the DOD would have something on her?"

Megan smiled slowly. "And who do we know with NSA contacts?" David mirrored her smile.

"Time to set Charlie to work."

Megan sat back, keeping her voice low as well. "I don't know, David. This just smacks of…"

"Spying? Yeah, I guess so. But I want to know what Colby's getting into here, Meg. I can't watch his back if I don't know what I'm watching out _for_, yeah?" He raised an eyebrow. Meg conceded.

"Okay. But I think we should go carefully, David. This is Colby's territory we're moving in on here. If he starts to think that we're checking up on him again, it could really mess his head up."

David deadpanned. "I love it when you use that technical, psychology speak. Mess his _head up_?"

Megan leaned towards the man. "Colby has been showing signs of PTSD, David. We were concerned when he came back that it could be a problem. Recently? He's been behaving out of character. He's trying to cover it up, but it's there. You don't need me to point it out."

David nodded. It had taken him a very long time to start to trust his partner again after the Janus affair. He wanted to trust Colby. Desperately wanted to. But he'd seen the changes in his friend as well. Colby seemed edgy, nervous almost. He'd thrown himself back into his work, every move he made a conscious effort to prove his loyalty to the team and to his friend. Genuine, utterly committed and ever so slightly worrying. The light-heartedness that he'd liked about his partner had been replaced by a brooding, coiled spring of a man, whose quips and banter now seemed hollow. "I think we need to run this by Don, Meg. Without Colby's knowledge."

"We can't start keeping secrets from him, David. That'll just compound the issue. He'll feel that we still don't trust him. If he is suffering from PTSD, that could make matters worse. He could become hostile towards us. It's a downward spiral."

"I still want to run it by Don first, Meg. End of." David stood up and walked away…

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Don had agreed. "I'll speak to Charlie. See what we can do." The conversation had finished there. Don was in no mood to go into any more detail. David could see that this whole situation made his boss uncomfortable. He didn't press it any further.

Colby was back at his desk when David returned to the office. He sat down at his desk and studied the man. Colby had never been the greatest of typists, and he stabbed at the keyboard, a look of absolute concentration on his face. David waited. Eventually, Colby stopped trying to skewer the keyboard and glanced up. "What?"

"You're a dumb-ass."

Colby stared at his partner in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"This morning. With that sniper. You could've been shot."

"That's the general point of snipers, man. They shoot people." Colby flashed a grin at his partner. There was that brittle edge to his humour again. As if he wasn't convinced himself that what he'd done had been the right thing. He'd deliberately put himself in the line of fire, and against a direct order. That wasn't the actions of a cold, calculating professional. That was the action of someone running on instinct. Blind intuition. Right or wrong. A nagging thought wormed its way into David's brain. Could the PTSD have triggered some kind of subconscious suicide instinct in Colby? Was that, deep down, the only way out the ex-soldier could see? David felt like he was standing on the surface of a frozen lake, and the ice was starting to crack under his feet…

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Christine Dixon climbed into the black Dodge Durango and slammed the door. She sat motionless for a second and slowly closed her eyes. Her head dropped back onto the headrest and she let out a long sigh. It had worked. Beautifully. She had him _exactly_ where she wanted him…

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The email alert on Colby's computer pinged. He double clicked on the icon and the message opened up on his screen. It had an attachment, indicated by the paperclip in the corner. Colby scanned the message quickly.

_CJ,_

_Attached are a couple of bits you and your friends may find useful. I've kept my end of the bargain. I trust you'll keep yours._

The message wasn't signed. It didn't need to be. He knew it was from her. Something was gnawing away at the back of his mind. A phrase she had used as she walked out of the door earlier… "_…see if I can get more than ten yards this time without coming under friendly fire, huh?_"

It bothered him. He couldn't pin exactly why. But that…and the look she'd given him…

He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and opened the attachments. In the files were lists of names and addresses – private houses, clubs, restaurants – all owned and run by Ukrainian immigrants. A mark was placed by three of the names and the initials "KH" next to them. Colby read the names. "Don? I think you better take a look at this." Don, curious, moved behind Colby and leaned in, studying the screen.

"What does KH stand for?"

"Known Hostile. Agency slang." Colby printed the pages off. "A known hostile is someone who appears on their watch list. Could be any number of reasons – they might have been active in protest groups, come from a region known to be unstable, anything. Hell, they could be on the list just for wearing a loud shirt in a built up area." He handed the printed pages to Don. The CIA doesn't discriminate. They hate everyone." He shrugged. "But if she's flagged these three, they're worth checking out."

Don studied the print out. He nodded. "I agree." He looked up at Colby. "You and David go scope them out. See what you can come up with." Colby nodded and opened his desk drawer, pulling out his Springfield Armory Custom TRP and, checking the clip, he holstered it at his hip. David and Colby walked out of the office, almost in perfect synch. Don glanced briefly at Megan. "A word?" Megan stood up and followed Don into the interview room…

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David climbed into the passenger seat of the Dodge and pulled the door shut. Colby, already in the driver's seat, started the engine. And then froze, a puzzled expression on his face. David watched his friend, frowning. "Colby? You okay?"

Colby seemed not to hear his partner and muttered quietly, "Friendly fire? Why did she say that?"

"Colby! Yo! Col! You here, man? Or somewhere else?" David was watching his partner like a hawk. Colby suddenly snapped back to the hear and now, focusing completely on David.

"Huh? No, sorry, man. Just…just something that Chris said when she was leaving."

"Yeah, that crack about friendly fire. So?"

"Ah, maybe its nothing." Colby put the Dodge into gear and pulled into the traffic. After a couple of blocks, he spoke again. "Just a weird phrase to use. That's all."

"If that's all, then why's it bugging you so much, big fella?"

The term of endearment David used worked. Colby relaxed just enough to voice his concerns to his partner. "I, well, I kinda got caught up in a friendly fire incident in Afghanistan. Two British agents died."

"What kind of British agents?"

"Well, not exactly James freakin' Bond, man, but British. And agents."

"You mean like Dixon."

"Like Christine. Yes."

David sat back in his seat. "You think that she knew about that? That she was taking a swing at you or something?"

"Possibly." Colby's grip tightened on the steering wheel.

David wanted to say it out loud. 'You're being set up, Col.' He desperately wanted to voice his concerns. But based on what? On a quip made by some smart-mouthed English spook? Why? Why the hell would she have any reason to go after Colby?

They drove on in silence.

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Colby drew up on the opposite side of the road to the Ukrainian restaurant. He killed the engine and peered across the road. "Well? Waddya think?"

"I think we're about to try Ukrainian food for the first time, brother!" David flashed a humorless smile and opened the door. The two men climbed out of the Dodge and started to cross the road towards the restaurant.

An avalanche of sound hit them as the front of the restaurant exploded outwards. David and Colby were slammed backwards, hitting the ground hard. They threw their hands up in front of them, instinctively trying to protect their heads from the massive explosion that had torn the restaurant apart. As the rubble fell around them, car alarms and screams filled the air as those who could still walk staggered away from the carnage. There was blood and glass everywhere. Colby lay motionless. David choked and coughed, the pain in his ribs letting him know that at least two of them were broken. He bit back a yelp of pain and tried to drag himself back onto his feet. He managed to get to his knees and paused, gasping for breath and trying to ignore the ringing in his ears from the pressure wave that had thrown them across the road. "COLBY!"

There was no reply…

TBC… 


	4. Trust Restored

Disclaimer:

Disclaimer:

Blah, blah, blah. Oh, c'mon, you really want me to? (Sigh) Alrighty then. I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. I do, however, lay a perfectly justified claim to the character of Christine Dixon and the story.

There.

Happy?

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Colby's eyes flickered. He could feel an obstruction in his throat that made his gag reflexes kick in. He choked, struggling against the blockage.

"He's got it. Okay folks, let's make it easier for him." He felt his head tilted back and the obstruction pulled quickly and expertly out. He gasped, desperately forcing his lungs to fill with air. A mask clamped over his mouth and nose and a face started to focus in front of him. "Take it easy, Colby. Try and breathe slowly. Easy does it. Atta boy. _There _ya go…" The voice was calm and reassuring. In the background he could hear a beeping sound. As he forced his body to relax, he realised that he was in a brightly-lit room. A hospital. Colby closed his eyes again, trying to focus, trying to kick-start his awareness. "Wanna open those peepers again for me, Colby?" He felt his eyelid being pulled back and a bright light forced his pupil to dilate down to a pinprick. "Good responses. I think he's gonna be okay, Agent Eppes."

The name filtered through Colby's consciousness and he opened his eyes again. Don's anxious face came into view. This time, he could focus. His breathing steadied and the mask was removed, replaced quickly and expertly with a nasal oxygen tube. Don smiled warmly at the man.

"Hey." Colby blinked slowly. His throat was raw from the ventilator tube. He tried to respond, but no sound came out. "Easy, Col. Don't try and talk just yet, okay?"

"David?" Colby ignored Don's order. He had to know if his partner was okay. The one word exhausted him. It took every ounce of effort just to speak his friend's name.

"David's fine. A couple of busted ribs and bruises, but he's doin' good." Don sat down in the chair, close to Colby's head and in clear line of sight of the man. "Listen to me. Col? Hey," he whistled sharply, "over here, man, you listenin'?" Colby turned his head a fraction to the left and looked directly at Eppes. "Doctors say you took one hell of a blow to your head when you hit the truck. The explosion was huge, man. Blew you and David half way back across the street. Guess you've just got one hell of a thick skull, huh?" Don smiled broadly. " Colby flickered a tiny smile in response. "They put you on the ventilator as a precaution. You, um, well, you weren't breathin' too good when you came in." Don's smile vanished. "You gotta stop doin' this to us, Col. Ya know? This flat-lining crap? Not gonna look good on your next evaluation." He was silent for a moment. When he spoke next, his voice was soft and full of concern. "Not had a good day, have ya, big fella?" He placed a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "One of our people are gonna be with you round the clock, Col. Until we find out exactly who was behind this."

Colby didn't need to hear it in full. He knew exactly what Don was implying. Dixon. Don reckoned that the co-incidence was inescapable. He didn't need his brother's genius to realise that the data all pointed to one, very obvious, conclusion. Dixon was behind this. Had her fingerprints all over it.

Colby didn't want to agree. He didn't understand _why_ the woman would have a grudge against him personally. But a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach told him that Eppes could be right.

Don stood up. "I'll be back later, okay? You do _exactly_ what the doctors tell you to, understand?" Don flashed a smile at him again. "You've been pretty relaxed about taking orders lately, Granger." The use of his surname was deliberate. Eppes wanted to warn Colby that he was being serious here. No more going off-script. "It stops. Now. Are we _clear_, Colby?"

Colby couldn't help himself. The authority in Don's voice was unquestionable. His years of military training kicked in. "Yes, sir!" The response was hoarse, but unmistakable. A soldier responding to a direct order.

Don reeled inside. Colby's automated response was something that shocked him to the core, and he had a hard time wondering why. He had always thought of the younger agent as a good-natured, easy going and ferociously brave man. Sure, he knew all about his army background, but it had never seemed tangible, somehow. Never quite real. But with that drill-sergeant inspired response, he suddenly saw Colby for the ex-soldier that he was. Everything that had happened with Colby suddenly all made sense. The Janus affair, everything. In that moment Don _knew_ that Colby's loyalty to him, his team, the FBI, his _country_ was unquestionable. He knew then that he would be able to keep the promise he had made to Colby earlier that day. He had promised never to use Colby's past against him as some kind of cheap, throw-away, low blow comment. And God _help_ anyone who ever did… Don nodded and walked quietly away from Colby's bed. He glanced back into the room to see a nurse checking his breathing and smiling down at the man, her unheard reassuring words soothing him. Don smiled to himself and walked away…

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David was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed as Don walked into the room. "He's awake."

David let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank God." His head dropped onto his chest as he gave a silent prayer of thanks to whatever gods had been watching over Colby that day. He glanced up at Don. "Man, I tell ya! It's getting downright dangerous bein' around that dude these days! I mean, seriously! Snipers, explosions…"

Don sensed the man's attempt at a light-hearted banter to cover the obvious relief he felt at the news of Colby's survival. He knew then that David's trust in his friend was as absolute as his own. A line had been drawn under two years of lies, deception and assumed betrayal. Assumed because, as they both now knew full well, that betrayal had in fact been a loyalty that went far above and beyond the call of duty.

Of course there would be problems along the way. Colby still had to forgive himself.

And that was going to take a _lot_ longer…

"You been fully checked out?" Don crossed his arms and studied the man. David knew that if Don had the _slightest _doubt as to his fitness, he would be receiving the same kind of order that Colby had just had. If Don questioned his well-being just _one_ iota, he would be staying right here until Don said otherwise. He just knew_._ His boss had a way of reminding you without words exactly _whom_ was in charge. That's what made Don a leader. David felt terrible. His chest felt as if it had been hit by a wrecking ball. He mentally braced himself and stood up as defiantly and as nonchalantly as possible, frantically fighting against the urge to flinch with pain and quite possibly pass out or throw up.

"I'm fine." He defied Don to say otherwise.

Don stared at him hard for a second and then quietly laughed. "Okay. Come on." Of course he knew how god-awful David was actually feeling. But that was one of the _other _things that made Don a good leader of men. He knew when to relent. He turned and started to walk out of the room.

"Don?" Don stopped and turned, waiting for David to speak. "Is it okay if I stop by and say hey to Colby?"

Don smiled. "Of course…"

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Don waited outside the room. He didn't need to hear this conversation. After a couple of minutes, he glanced through the glass window into Colby's room. David had stood up and was looking down on Colby, smiling gently. He saw Colby's hand raise slowly and David's own hand met it in a firm but gentle handshake. A wagged finger told Don that yes, Colby was getting the exact same lecture that he had given the man; do as the doctors tell you. David gently put Colby's hand back down on the bed and give him a thumb's up sign. He turned and walked out of the room, softly closing the door behind him. He walked up to Eppes.

"He's gonna be just fine." David's face was serious. Eppes nodded.

"I think it's about time we had a real heart-to-heart with our friends at the CIA, don't you, Dave?"

"Absolutely." David was fired up. Not only had they tried to blow his own goddamn ass all over the road, they'd tried to kill his partner too. Not to mention the innocent bystanders that had been caught up in the horrific explosion. Four people had lost their lives today. No, make that six, including the two CIA agents. Don wasn't stupid. He knew full well the amount of influence the Ukrainian and Russian Mafia had on their communities. He'd worked enough Russian Mafia cases to know whom the main players were, how they operated and just how brutal they could be. But blowing up restaurants wasn't their usual MO. They tended to target their victims in a much more discriminatory manner. Bombs were new territory for them. It made Eppes uneasy. It made that suspicion that something more dark and dirty was behind this. Something more personal, a vendetta

And he kept going back to her…

As he walked down the corridor with his fellow agent, Don made up his mind. "I want to know _everything_ about that woman. I don't care how much the CIA scream and shout. Every _single _thing. If she's a rogue agent, I'll bury her."

They turned out of the building and walked quickly to the car. Eppes paused as he opened the driver door. David looked at him over the roof of the sedan. Eppes spoke quietly. "She wants to get personal? Well, it just got _real _personal for me." He climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door. David climbed in next to him. His determination was as rigid as his boss's.

333333333

Charlie and Megan were waiting when Don and David arrived back at the Bureau. They both stood up as Don and David walked into the office, obvious relief to see David in one piece, and both anxiously awaiting news of their friend and fellow agent. Don put them out of their misery quickly. "Colby's gonna be fine. Thick-skinned, tough son of a bitch that he is." The rare outburst reassured Megan and Charlie that Don wasn't covering. Colby really _was_ going to be okay. Right. To business…"I've spoken to the director. Our Colonel Dixon is a little bit more covert than we thought." He paused. He was in an open office. He indicated for all of them to follow him into the relative privacy of an interview room. He waited patiently until they had all filed in and then softly closed the door. He perched on the edge of the desk and addressed the team collectively.

"Okay, here's the thing. Those two CIA agents who died this morning weren't here to escort Miss Dixon to safety. They were here to arrest her. Whatever she's into, it's either _completely_ off-script, or it's so damn covert that even the CIA don't know about it. And I find that hard to believe."

"There's too many variables in this, Don." Charlie frowned. "It's all a matter of counter moves and double bluffs. There's no connecting factor."

"Is that your mathematical way of saying what's her motive?" Don cocked an eyebrow at his brother.

"If you want to use simple terms, then…yes…I guess…so" Charlie's voice trailed off. This wasn't the time for logic. This was the time for cold, hard, deduction. Law enforcement. No matter if that person thought themselves above the law or not.

"That's what we want to find out. Charlie, anything from your NSA contacts?"

"They've never heard of a Colonel Dixon."

"What?"

"She doesn't exist. There's no record of her ever being seconded to homeland security, CIA or any other organisation."

"British military?"

"Same. No Colonel Dixon. But they did have a Captain _Armstrong_ in the records. Actually, they had two."

"What do you mean, two? And _no_ math jokes about one and one!"

Charlie grinned briefly. "Okay. Two, as in two officers in British Military intelligence called Armstrong. A Captain Diane Armstrong and a Captain Michael Armstrong. Michael was killed in Afghanistan five years ago. Diane remained with military intelligence for another year and then dropped off the grid. She's wanted by the Brits for desertion." He paused. "Diane Armstrong was Michael's sister. They both came from a military family. The father was killed in Kosovo, mother died in an auto-wreck six month's later. There's a more than high probability that our Colonel Dixon is really Diane Armstrong."

Megan spoke. "If she is rogue, how the hell did she have the authority to prompt a phone-call from the CIA to our director ordering her release? That doesn't make any sense."

"He never said her release. He said that two CIA officers would be coming to collect her and that no further questioning was to proceed. Very different from ordering her release. The CIA obviously wanted to keep this quiet, but why?"

"Somebody else certainly wanted her dead." Charlie glanced at the team.

"Or wanted her freed." David countered. "He took out the agents, not her, remember?"

Don frowned. "Okay. So she's obviously working for someone, but who?"

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Diane Armstrong (nee Dixon) paced the room. She glanced at a watch and glanced cautiously out of the corner of the window down onto the street. No sign. Good. She let the curtain drop back into place and dropped down onto the bed, her hands thrown behind her head. Give it a couple of days. Let him recover enough. Enough to be _fully aware _of what was happening around him. Then part two could start. The choice was a tough one. Should she go for the weakest member of the team, or the one with the most authority? Which choice would mess with his head the most? She smiled darkly to herself. How about the one he considered to be a friend as well as a colleague? After all, he was weakened after suffering his own injuries after the bomb. She felt like a lioness, picking out the weakest and most vulnerable member of the herd.

She knew full well that she was going to die soon. She didn't care. What did she have left to live for, anyway? The only thing that consumed her now was finishing her final mission. Revenge on the man who had taken her brother away from her. The one last link of family that she had had. The opportunity to take that revenge had presented itself far sooner than she had imagined. The freelance work for the CIA had served her well in that aspect, getting her close inside the machine that was counter-intelligence operations. She had tracked his career as closely as if she were following her favourite football team. Watching. Waiting for _years _to get close enough to set things in motion.

She was thinking on her feet, but then, she was good at that kind of thing. It's what she had been trained to do all her life. She didn't know any other way. She was a _good _soldier. Not like him. He was soft. Vulnerable. Stupid, emotional attachments.

She chuckled. She had no intention of killing him. Hell, no. She had every intention of destroying _everything _he held dear. Everything he believed in. In exactly the same way as he had destroyed everything she had loved.

She'd kill his friends.

And let him live for a long, _long _time with the agony of knowing it was _all his own fault…_

"Endgame, Colby Granger. Endgame." She smiled in the failing light. A chilling, cold-blooded smile…

TBC… 


	5. Revelations

Disclaimer

Disclaimer

Please insert usual disclaimer about not owning Numb3rs here. Also, add usual, slightly paranoid bit about that excluding the ownership of character of Christine Dixon (aka Diane Armstrong) and the story. Finish with standard, smart-arsed remark...

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Don nearly burst out laughing as he stood in the doorway of Colby's hospital room. The man was poking at some food on a plastic plate, a look of absolute horror on his face. Don couldn't help it. A snort of laughter slipped out. Colby looked up, his face a picture of concern, disgust and more than a little agitation.

"Seriously. What the hell _is_ this?" He motioned at the plate with a plastic fork.

"Standard hospital food, Col. Something brown with mashed potatoes, followed by Jell-O. Now eat it down, there's a good boy." He grinned broadly as he walked into the room. "Good to see you sitting up, Granger."

Colby threw the fork down in disgust. "You think if I give you the number to call, you could get one of my old army buddies to bring me over a ration-pack? No, Don, I'm serious! Desert issue, _anything_ that doesn't have mashed goddamn potato in it!" He pushed the bed-table away from him, wincing as he did. Don picked up on the wince. The guy was still hurting. "I _hate _mashed potato." Colby forgot the meal that sat untouched on the plate and focused on Don. "So. Anything?"

"If you mean have we found her, then no."

"Not gonna be easy. The woman is a trained ghost."

"I take it ghost is a term for…"

"Someone who works deep undercover, yes. Trained in evasion and counter-intelligence techniques."

"Like you?"

Colby was quiet for a moment. "Like me. Yeah. Like me." The admission was hard for him. It was another confirmation of a part of his life that Don had only recently learnt about. He was worried that every time it came up, it chipped away a little more at Don's new-found confidence in him. Don sat down next to Colby, fixing a steady gaze on him.

"Okay, listen up. I want you to tell me everything, Col."

"There's stuff I can't. I'm sorry. It's just…some people are still operating in hostile…"

"I don't mean the military stuff, Col. I understand you can't discuss military ops, and I wouldn't be inconsiderate enough to make you talk about stuff that's liable to put people's lives at risk. But I _do_ want to know about the friendly fire incident you were involved in."

Colby snapped his head around, his eyes hard. "What friendly fire incident?"

"The one that killed two British agents. The one that you mentioned in passing to David, just before the restaurant, Colby. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

"Don, look. She had nothing to do with that. It was about four months _after _I met her. Why should she have any interest in that?"

Don frowned. "Okay. When you met her in Afghanistan, what name was she going under?"

"I…what?"

"Her name, Col."

Colby thought back. He scowled. "Dixon. Colonel Christine Dixon. Don, where ya going with this?"

"Her name isn't Dixon. Her name is Armstrong. Diane Armstrong. Her brother was Michael, one of the British agents killed in the friendly fire incident."

Colby leaned back, reeling from the news. "Shit." He ran his hand through his short hair. "Guess we got ourselves a motive then, huh?" Don nodded. Colby was quiet for a moment. "I'm a sitting duck here," he muttered to himself.

"You ain't goin' _anywhere_ until the doctors give you the all-clear. We have people on your door twenty-four seven…"

"You think _that's _gonna stop her?"

Don sat back, his arms crossed. "Those two CIA officers were coming to arrest her, Col. She's rogue. So I need to know what she's planning. How she thinks."

He glanced up as Megan walked in, a warm smile on her lips as she saw Colby. Wordlessly, she walked up to the man and hugged him tenderly. "Hey." She stepped back and held up a bag. "Guessed they'd try force-feeding you mashed potatoes and I know how much you hate them. Bagel. Cream cheese and smoked salmon." She held the bag out with a grin.

"Meg, you're a life-saver! Thank you. Thank you, more than you can ever know. Goddamn mashed potatoes, freakin' abomination!" Colby grinned and took the bag with a wink. He put it to one side.

"I heard Don's question. If you can give us any insight as to how she may be thinking, Colby, what she'd be trained to do, that kinda thing?" Meg pulled up a second chair and sat down. Colby fidgeted. He hated being the centre of attention like this.

"Training's got nothin' to do with it, Meg. That'll serve her well in the evade department, but as to what she's got planned?" He shrugged. "All I know is that she's had plenty of opportunities to kill me over the past twenty four. Christ, if she really _is _out for revenge, she's had more than ample oppo to kill me any time over the last four years. So why this? Why this dumb-ass game of bluff and double bluff?"

Meg considered the problem. "If that's true, then perhaps she wants to get back at you in some other way?"

Don chipped in. "What, you mean by going after people _around _Colby?"

"Possibly."

Colby suddenly looked serious. "She'll come after you guys."

Don sat forward. "Why?"

Colby didn't answer straight away. When he did, his eyes were filled with genuine concern. "Because she knows it'll kill me if anything happens to any of you…"

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The cell-phone buzzed on the bedside table. Diane Armstrong snatched it up in her hand and studied the caller-ID. Satisfied, she flipped the phone open. "Speak."

"_He's in the hospital. From what I've heard, he's in pretty bad shape. ICU."_

"Then we wait."

"_Why? Why not start now? The longer we leave it…"_

"We _wait, _my dear chap, so that he's fully conscious. Fully aware. I want him to _know _what's happening to his oh-so precious world, Phil."

"_You took one hell of a risk, Captain. That bomb_…"

"Was _nothing _to do with me. Scout's honour. Just a bit of remarkable good fortune." Diane was good at lying. _Very _good.

"_What about your ex-bosses_?"

"Sweetheart, the CIA couldn't find their own arses with both hands and an atlas. Don't worry about them. I know every move they'll make before they make it." There was a silence at the end of the phone. "Phil? You're not having second thoughts about this are you?" Diane's voice had a dangerous edge to it.

"_No. I don't see why we don't just kill him and get it over with, that's all."_

Diane paced the room impatiently. The last thing she needed was Phil getting the jitters on her. "Listen. Your brother died that day as well. How long have you suffered over it, Phil? Huh? Killing him would be the easy option. I don't know about you, my friend, but I want him to _suffer_. For a very, very long time." She kicked into business mode. "Okay. We have a few days to wait. Go dark. Keep out of sight and a close eye out for anyone starting to sniff around. That Eppes character is shrewd. There's a good chance he has an idea about who and what I am by now. I'm not underestimating him just because he's a Fed. They can be like a fucking dog with a bone, that lot."

"_Who's our first target?" _The question made Diane smile. Phil was still on board. Good boy…

"We go after the softest target. The one that'll really make him feel guilty. The one that'll really tear his soul in half…"

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Colby was still quiet. Don and Megan waited – give the man time. Don knew that look. Colby was thinking it through carefully, assessing every possible angle. Finally, Colby spoke.

"I hate myself for doing this…"

Don looked puzzled. "For doing what?"

"For thinking like her. I feel pretty low about all this already but…"

"If it helps, Col, it's worth it. And remember. This woman is dangerously unstable. Any pointers you can give us…"

Colby flashed a smile at Meg. "What you implying there, Meggy?"

"I…wasn't…I…" Meg stuttered, caught off guard by Colby's sharp wit.

"Hey, don't sweat it. I was kidding." Colby noted Don's frown. "Sorry. Okay. _If _I were her, and I'd been holding a grudge like this for several years, then my reasonin' would be pretty shot to pieces by now, right?" He glanced at Meg for her professional confirmation of his assessment of Diane's mental state.

"Absolutely."

"So if I've been suffering, I'd wanna make the person I held responsible suffer too. Which is why she'll wait until she's sure I'm back on my feet. So I can experience it first hand." He shrugged at Don. "That's what I'd do. Blind revenge. Slow, painful and hurting as many people as possible."

Don stared hard at the man. "Remind me never to piss you off."

"I just can't figure out how the sniper fitted into all of this, though." Megan looked between the two men. "That seems to be the discordant note here. If she's on a personal vendetta, then what's with the sniper? Why not just go after you herself?"

Colby spoke quietly. "_Two _British agents were killed that day, Meg. Checked out the other one?"

Don swore quietly. "You think she may have teamed up with another wronged relative or something?"

Colby pulled himself upright. "Okay. That's it. I'm no goddamn use here. Get a doctor. I'm signing myself out."

"Like hell you are!" Don stood up angrily. "You're in no fit state to go after two fit and trained assassins, Granger. You're staying…"

"I thought you just said to remind you not to piss me off?" Colby glared angrily at Don and pulled an IV tube from his arm. The disconnection set an alarm off that sent a nurse scurrying into the room. Don held a hand up, stopping her in her tracks. "We force her out into the open. Before she's ready. Now you," Colby pointed at the nurse. "Go get a doctor. Now."

Don sighed. He knew that nothing on earth would keep Colby in that bed now. "Fine. But we keep a pretence up. As far as she knows, you're still flat on your back and out of the game. If we can keep her thinking that for a while, it may give us a chance to bring the fight to her. On our terms." Meg stood up and leaned over, kissing Colby on the cheek.

"I'll bring the car around."

Colby waited until Meg had left. As Don turned to leave the room, Colby stopped him. "Don?"

"Huh?"

"Just so you know? Those two British agents? I swear. I didn't kill them. I can't say any more than that, but you gotta believe me. I didn't kill 'em, Don."

"I believe you." Don flashed Colby a smile of reassurance and walked out…

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Charlie kicked the door closed behind him and glanced up. "Hey dad."

Alan Eppes ambled into the room. "You're early. What, suddenly there's not enough mathematical equations in the world to keep you busy for another couple of hours that you have to come home and start pestering me?"

Charlie looked puzzled. "Did I interrupt you with anything?" Genuine concern filled his voice.

"No, no, I…oh...Just…don't laugh, alright?" He crooked a finger. "Come. Come on, come." Charlie followed his father into the kitchen. On the table stood an appallingly badly iced cake. Alan held his hands out. "Ta-da!"

Charlie smirked, desperately fighting the urge to laugh out loud. He gazed at his father, his face filled with amusement. "What? Why? How? And, um, _why_, again?"

"It's your brother's birthday in three days time, or had you forgotten? Have you _seen _the price of birthday cakes in the shops? How hard can it be?" He motioned to the cake. "Your brother has never had a proper birthday cake. So…"

"You want me to do a statistical analysis of the reasons why you shouldn't pursue this any further, dad? Because I can whip up a quick algorithm that'll list at least a dozen…"

"You wanna stand there mocking, or you wanna help?"

"Oh, I'm good with the mocking, seriously…"

The sound of the front door slamming stopped their conversation dead. Alan shot a desperate look at his youngest son. "Stall him!"

"_Stall _him? How the hell am I supposed to do that!" Charlie whispered frantically at his father. "He's an FBI agent, dad, or hadn't you noticed?" Alan gritted his teeth and glared hard at his boy, shaking a fist. Don's hey of greeting made Charlie bounce through the door, trying to look as nonchalant as he could. He gave a small wave. "Hey."

Don studied the mail, just through force of habit. He didn't live there anymore, but still… He glanced up and frowned. "Charlie?"

"Hmm?"

"You, um, okay there?"

"Okay? Yeah, fine! Fine! Never better. So how's Colby?"

"Dad around?"

"He's um," Charlie glanced nervously into the kitchen. Alan frantically shoo'd him out, wrestling with the cake and a rubbish sack. "He's just taking out the trash." He flashed a grin at his brother. "So, Colby?"

"He's okay. Actually, can I talk to you for a minute? Outside?" Charlie nodded and followed his brother out onto the front porch. Don softly closed the door behind them and turned, facing his brother. "We have a problem."

Ten minutes later, Charlie had the full story. He leaned back against the handrail that ran the length of the porch. "Crap."

"Colby's staying at a safe-house. We're keeping up the pretence of him still being in the hospital. He thinks she won't move until she's sure he's up and about. This way, we have maybe twenty-four hours before she figures out that Colby's back in the game.

"He really thinks that she'll come after one of you guys?"

"Charlie, you're included in that list too."

"Why me?"

"Because the woman's done her homework. She knows who Colby's friends are. Until she's safely behind bars, we're all on alert."

"What about dad?"

"Dad too. There'll be agents watching the house and your office. Carry on normally, as if nothing's changed."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"She's a ghost. We've got no data to give you, Charlie."

"Not strictly true. If she's going after those closest to Colby, then I can use a matrix system to narrow down who she's most likely to target first."

"I don't know, Charlie. We're working with emotions here, not numbers. And pretty screwed up emotions at that. We're going to try and track down any relatives of the other British agent, a David Bernard. Colby suspects that Armstrong isn't working alone…"

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Philip Bernard cleaned his rifle religiously. It was like an extension of his own soul. Precious. The two CIA agents had been easy targets. If he was honest, the crosshairs had been on Colby all along. It would've been so damn easy to blow the American's head off. Perhaps Diane was right. Too damn easy. It had taken every ounce of self-control he had not to take the second shot when Colby had stood up from behind the wall and fired towards him. How the hell did the bastard know which building to aim at? Dumb luck? Or was Colby better than Diane gave him credit for?

No matter.

He picked up the photograph and studied it. Diane had selected the mark. Now all he waited for was the phone call that would tell him to move. He smiled slowly, still looking at the picture. "Sorry about this, my friend. Nothing _personal_, I'm sure you'll understand. Just one of those, annoying _friendly fire _deaths…" He dropped the picture back onto the bed again and turned his attention back to his rifle.

On the bed, a picture of David Sinclair lay, discarded for now…

TBC…


	6. Sua Sponte

Disclaimer:

Disclaimer:

Good grief. What, _again? _Yadda yadda yadda don't own anything to do with Numb3rs, yadda yadda, own story and Christine Dixon (aka Diane Armstrong).

Now enough already!

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Colby lay on the bed in the bare room, one arm thrown over his eyes. Safe houses weren't the most salubrious of locations, but it would do. Hell, anywhere that had a bed was good. He lay in the darkness, the events of the past couple of days churning over in his mind. Every so often, other images would flash into his consciousness. Horrible, dark, vicious, death-filled images. The stench of gasoline as the Hummer had burst into flames in Helmund. The screams of his dying comrades as the gas tank blew. The terrible fear that he was burning alive. His lungs searing as his friend had dragged him free of the burning wreck. The crack of sniper fire all around him…

Colby's eyes snapped open, his breathing ragged and gasping. Sweat glistened on his skin in the half-light of the streetlight outside the window. He dragged a shaking hand over his face and painfully sat up, his head bowed onto his chest. The flashbacks had been happening more often lately. His dreams, when he _did _sleep, were filled with disjointed, horrific nightmares that woke him every time, on the verge of screaming in terror.

He swung his legs around and felt the cold floor touch the skin on his feet. He stood up shakily and made his way into the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face, he looked up and stared back at his own reflection in the mirror. He might have been able to disguise the haunted look in his eyes from his friends, but he couldn't disguise it from himself…

The soft click of the front door being opened brought him spinning around, his gun held straight out in front of him in an instant. He fought to control his breathing, the gun never even moving a millimetre. Ian Edgerton stopped dead in his tracks and looked quizzically at the man in front of him. He glanced down at the sidearm that pointed directly at his heart and raised an eyebrow. "Whoa, there big fella. I promise. No mashed potato." He held up a bag. "Just good old fashioned fried chicken. Meg warned me." He gave the man a small smile. "I kinda sneaked in a bottle of Jack too. Ya know." He shrugged.

Colby let out a sigh of relief and snapped his hand up, pulling the gun away from the man he respected more than anyone else in the team. Ian didn't miss the fact that as he did, Colby had clicked the safety catch back to the 'on' position. He had been one heartbeat away from a bullet. Jesus. Colby was seriously jumpy…

Ian sat down slowly, putting the bag of food on the table in front of Colby. He made sure every movement was clear, obvious and non-threatening. Colby's gun was still held loosely in his hand. Ian let out a silent sigh of relief as the younger man finally put the gun on the table. Colby turned and disappeared momentarily into the kitchen, returning with two glasses. "What was that about a bottle of Jack?" He grinned and held the glasses up. Ian returned a small smile and spun the top off the Jack, pouring two good measures into the glasses. He noticed that Colby didn't touch the food.

"Not hungry, Col?"

"Nah." Colby sat back on the bed, unable to disguise a wince as he did. Damn, his chest hurt… "Meg tried to force-feed me a bagel at the hospital earlier. Didn't have the heart to tell her I wasn't really in the mood for food." He took a long swig from the glass and stared thoughtfully into it. "Gave it to one of the nurses for her lunch. Don't tell Meg, will ya?" He flashed a humourless grin at Ian.

"You're secret's safe with me." Ian raised his glass in a toast and took a drink. The men were silent for a while. Ian was here for a reason. Don had called him and told him everything that had happened in the past thirty-six hours. He had also spoken candidly to Ian of his concerns for Colby's state of mind. Colby was fragile at the moment. He sure as hell wasn't going to open up to any of the team about all of this, so maybe, Don had thought, he'd open up to another ex-soldier? Ian had agreed. The bottle of Jack was to help things along. He leaned forward and topped their glasses up.

"So. You've had a shitty couple of days, Col." The statement was greeted by Colby with a snort of laughter.

"Ya _think_?"

"How much do Don and the team know?"

"As much as they need to." Colby was shutting down. He knew why Ian was here. 'Jesus Don, I'm not an idiot!' he thought silently to himself. But the lack of sleep, lack of food and the Jack on an empty stomach was starting to work. He could feel his defences slipping. He fought against the need, the want, the burning desire to finally talk to someone else who _would _understand. Someone who had seen the same kind of hellish combat zones that he'd lived through. Someone whom he admired and trusted completely. Someone like Ian. Finally, Colby relented. He fixed Ian with a hard stare. "Don send you in, did he? Break me down, get me to talk, that kinda thing? One ex-soldier to another?"

"Yep." Ian flashed that brief grin again. "Busted."

Colby laughed, taken aback by the bare admission. "Thought as much. After all, this is a safe house. Wired to the rafters, right? Every word?"

"Every word, Col."

"They outside in a pizza van?"

"Actually, I think it's a laundry van this time."

"So Meg knows about the bagel then."

"Oh, I reckon so."

"Crap." Colby took another mouthful of Jack. "She's gonna be pissed."

"I reckon she'll understand, Col."

They sat in silence again. Ian gave the man the time he knew he needed. Colby was trained in interrogation. He knew all the tricks, better than any of the rest of the team. This was his specialist area. And he'd been interrogated before, many times. The last time damn near cost him his life. But Ian felt that Colby was ready to finally talk. Everyone did. In the end…

"I miss the army." Colby's voice was soft, distant. He stared into his glass, watching the patterns swirling around in the amber liquid. "Knew where I was when I was in uniform, ya know?" He glanced up at Ian, who nodded.

"I know."

"Sua Sponte."

"Of one's own accord." Ian translated. The regimental motto of the US Rangers meant as much to Colby as Semper Fi did to a Marine.

"Kinda ironic really. Means you got nobody else to rely on to get it right but yourself. Well, I royally fucked that bit up, didn't I?" Colby laughed bitterly and drained his glass.

"That's not all it means, Col. It means you rely on your team as well. In the same way they rely on you."

"Bull."

"No, it's not. And you know it."

Colby flared briefly. "Ya know? After all the _shit _I've been through over the past three freakin' _years, _Ian, I think I'm allowed to feel sorry for myself just _once _in a while, don't you?" He slammed the glass down on the bedside table and leaned back, his eyes closed, his hand covering his face. Ian waited, silently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." Colby's apology was barely a whisper.

"Don't be. I agree with you. One hour of self-pity is worth a week's worth of therapy!" He grinned at the man again. Colby's hand dropped away from his face and he raised an eyebrow.

"Is that what they've got lined up for me? Evaluation? What, _again_?" He snorted. "Huh."

"Goes with the territory, soldier."

"You have any idea how many times I've been psyched? Jesus, if they gave out frequent flyer miles for attending, I'd have a round the world trip booked for my next vacation!"

"Your team relies on you. Gotta make sure you've got your game face on, Col."

"Always got my game face on, Ian. Always." Colby leaned forward and topped up their glasses again.

"Yeah, I know. But they're kinda worried what face you got on underneath." Ian didn't pull any punches. Perhaps that's where they'd been going wrong with Colby all along. Tip-toe-ing around him. That wasn't Colby's style, Ian knew that. He was a head-on kinda guy. He leaned forward in his chair, cradling the whisky glass in his hands. "Look. You and I both know what's at stake here. And we both know that there are bigger things behind this, things that don't concern the FBI. Things that they're not trained to deal with. Armstrong is a hostile combatant. And she knows exactly how this game plays out. Those guys in the laundry van, your _team _have no idea what she's capable of. But you and I do. We've seen it. Christ, Colby, we've _done _it. And right now, she's relying on your weakness over your team to get at you. She needs _help_, Col."

"She needs stopping."

"And you're the only one who can do that. No more loss of life, no more playing by FBI rules. This is combat, Col. And she's the enemy. So let's start thinking like soldiers, and not like federal agents, huh?" He leaned back and took a mouthful of Jack. "So why don't you stop fuck-assing around and tell me everything you know? All the way down?" He nodded towards the window. "I lied about the laundry van, by the way. They're not listening. Never were. It's just you and me."

"Reverse psychology? You son of a bitch, Edgerton." Colby shook his head and laughed. "Shoulda seen that one coming a mile off. Sloppy. Very sloppy."

"Worked, didn't it?" Ian smiled.

"I hate you."

"I know…"

333333333333

Don climbed quietly into the back of the laundry van. "How's he doin'?"

Megan nodded. "I think it's working. Although Colby knows exactly what's going on, Don. He's not stupid."

"Never thought he was." Don sat down and put a pair of earphones on.

"Ian tried to double bluff him about us listening in. Don't think he bought it for a moment, but he's playing along. Maybe he really was finally ready to talk to someone. Just not us, I guess." Meg shrugged. "I'm gonna pull him up on that bagel though. He owes me four bucks." Don looked quizzically at the woman. "He gave it to a nurse!"

"The very cheek of it!" Don grinned. That was just like Colby…

333333333

"So. What happened in Helmund?" Ian was as good as his word. Every detail. If they were going to stop this woman, he needed to know exactly what had happened and what Colby's take on the situation was that had led to the terrible events of the last couple of days.

Colby was quiet for a moment. Finally, he glanced up. "We were investigating a load of weapons that had gone missing. Word was that someone was selling them to the Taliban. Using our own damn guns to kill our own people. The British had suspected this quartermaster for a while and were keeping a close eye on him. We were called in as back up. It was a joint operation. The base held the entire stock for the contingency in Helmund Province, all the coalition forces. They figured that by bringing us in, the hostiles wouldn't start looking at the Brits as suspicious." He took another mouthful of his drink. "Anyway, it all went south. Big style. A Taliban mortar bombardment hit the base and all hell broke loose. In the middle of the battle, the two Brits got caught up in the crossfire. They were dead before they hit the ground." He fell quiet.

Ian looked thoughtful. "Okay. And the truth?"

"What?"

"Well, that's the official version you just gave me. What else? I mean, you were part of Military intel out there, Col. Internal investigations. I've seen your file."

"You _what_?"

"Long story. I'll explain another time. So I know you weren't just investigating the quartermaster. So?"

"God damn it!" Colby hurled his empty glass across the room. Ian flinched as the glass missed his head by inches. "You know DAMN WELL I can't talk about that!"

"You can and you have to. I'm the only one with clearance here, Col. Hang on a minute would you?" He stood up and moved to the window. Pulling the curtain back, he made a cutting motion across his throat to the occupants of the laundry van.

In the van, Don sighed and reached across, flicking the switch off. Meg raised an eyebrow. "Orders." Don shrugged. "Part of the agreement with military intel. Guess this bit doesn't concern us."

Ian let the curtain fall back and turned. Colby was on his feet, furious at the double-cross. "You son of a bitch, I _trusted _you!"

"And you can still trust me, Col. I promise you."

"That promise isn't worth _shit_!"

"Yes. It is. You have my word of honour as a soldier."

Colby stopped in his tracks. That meant far more to him than anything else. If Ian had told them to cut the tap, the tap had been cut. No doubt about it. He uncurled the balled fists his hands had automatically formed and relaxed his shoulders. His eyes never left Ian. "Michael Armstrong was dirty. A double agent. We knew, we just needed proof. Bernard was working with us. Armstrong must've found out. In the middle of the battle, he shot Bernard. Standard double tap to the head." Colby sat down on the edge of the bed. "But I swear, Ian, I don't know who killed Armstrong. I really don't."

Ian was quiet for a moment. "I do."

"What? Who?"

Ian didn't reply. He just looked at the man. Colby let the realisation sink in slowly. He felt like someone had just kicked his legs from under him.

"You!"

TBC…


	7. Lead By Example

Disclaimer

Disclaimer

Oh-hell, here we go again… Me? Numb3rs? Nada. Story? Diane Armstrong? Mine.

Capiche?

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The tension in the room was tangible. Hell, it was a solid wall between the two men. Colby was speechless. He stared in utter disbelief at Ian. And then the anger started. It churned in the pit of his stomach, threatening to overwhelm him like some kind of freakin' tidal wave of _fury_…Ian didn't have time to react. The fist connected with his jaw and sent him sprawling backwards, the sheer force behind it making his head spin. And the worst part of it was that Ian knew Colby had probably pulled the punch at the last second. That was just a small taster of the anger in the man. Ian knew perfectly well that the only thing that had stopped Colby from taking his head clean off his shoulders was the inherent decency of the man. Thank fuck for small mercies…

Colby stood over Ian, his legs set apart and his arm muscles bulging with tension. Ian knew that one wrong word now could launch another Exocet missile of a punch. "You? All..all this…is because of _you_?" Colby's voice was frighteningly level and soft. "You knew, didn't you? All along. So what, you thought you'd come in here, do the old army buddy routine on me and then casually drop this _fuck-off _great bombshell on me and expect me to go, well, hey, no harm, no foul? You thought that'd how it go, huh?" The words were hissed. Ian held his hand up and tried to push himself up and away out of range.

"Bernard was one of ours. He was trying to do the same as you did a few months ago, Col. Exactly the same…"

"It was _nothing like _the same! That was a fucking _combat _situation!"

"Armstrong wasn't just selling arms, Col. He was selling military secrets to the highest bidders. Positions, deployment details, special ops, Christ, Colby, he even told them where the drainage system to the fucking _latrines _was! He was betraying the entire coalition forces strategy. We had to take him out. Your special clearance came _after _the operation. At the time you were just Military Investigations. Once you joined Internal Investigations six months later, it was all ancient history. We thought everything had been cleaned up. That's why you never got to hear about it. That's why you were fed that bullshit story about the quartermaster."

Colby listened to the clipped tone of Ian's voice, looking for any possible indication that he was lying. Even in the middle of the red mist that had descended on him, his subconscious, deeply programmed skills of interrogation - they all kicked in. The eye contact. The submissive body language. What they'd always nicknamed the 'Frightened Rabbit' look. The look that tells an interrogator that you've pressed the right button and the prisoner had just broken. He didn't want to see Ian in that light. Not the man he had respected for so many years. Not like this.

Colby stepped back and relaxed his body posture. His hands were still loosely curled into fists, but Ian sensed that the possibility of another king sized smack in the mouth had subsided. He slowly stood up straight and faced the man, looking him straight in the eye. Colby was listening to him. At least he'd achieved that tonight. "Diane Armstrong vanished a year later. Officially she was MIA in Kosovo. Eighteen months ago she resurfaced and was recruited by the CIA as a deep cover field operative. I had no idea she was still on the radar. The only intel they'll give me is that her operative status was revoked six months ago. She'd gone completely off-script. It was about the same time as your, um, _problem _with the Chinese. I _know _that the CIA were in on that, so she must've gotten to hear that you were still in the game. You were there when her brother died. She probably doesn't have the faintest idea that her brother was a traitor." He took a step closer to Colby and held out a hand. "Colby, I'm sor…"

"Don't you _dare _say you're sorry, Ian." Colby spoke quietly. "Don't you dare. Six people are dead because of her belief that I killed her damn brother. Jesus, Ian, I practically believed it myself! I know damn well I fired my weapon that night, who's to say it wasn't my bullet that took him down? But oh no, that's all changed, now, hasn't it? Because I know full well that you're telling the truth because if you had your crosshairs on that bastard, there's no _fucking way _you would've missed him. And so that kinda lets me off the hook, doesn't it? Only it _doesn't, Ian!_ Because I still have the responsibility of six dead people on my conscience because she went after me instead of _you_!" He threw his hands up and turned away, pressing one hand to his forehead in frustration. He spun back suddenly. "So, g'on, buddy. Tell me. You _tell me_ how that's supposed to feel, man! Seeing as you came in here tonight so damn set on getting me to talk about my fucking feelings like some kinda…I dunno, weird…sniper shrink dude!"

"I don't expect any such thing. I expect you to think like a soldier." The quiet assurance in Ian's voice stopped Colby dead. He stared hard at Ian, his hands on his hips; the fingers tensing against his hipbones.

"Hmm." The grunt was thoughtful. He turned and walked away from Ian, thinking as he paced. "You're right, of course." He stopped and turned, the expression now completely calm. All trace of the fury that had filled him had vanished. The mood swing was a complete one-eighty. He was the old Colby again. It disturbed Ian deeply. He'd been there. That tailspinning, out of control sensation that hit you when you least expected it. Battle fatigue. That was the old term for it. Post traumatic stress disorder was the convoluted term that the shrinks gave it now. Ian had been there. And had come out the other side. Colby was going to need a chance after all this was over to make the same difficult journey Ian had had to go through. He had to learn to live with what he'd done. Learn to forgive himself…

Colby sat down on the bed. "Let's think about this. The weak link is what?" He glanced up at Ian.

"Bernard's brother."

"Bernard's brother, right. We know that if it was him behind that sniper's rifle the other day, he's pretty damn good. That was a good seven fifty meter shot, with elevation. Factor into that the wind was pretty up that day and you've got yourself a damn good sniper. I think even you'll have to bow to that one, Ian."

Ian nodded. Colby was right, Bernard was good. "I concur."

"Okay, so Armstrong may be trained as a ghost, but I'm guessing Bernard isn't. And he's a Brit, that's gonna stick out in this town. Should be easy to track down. Once we have him, we can pull Armstrong in. She isn't gonna be able to _resist _an offer at a free shot at me." Colby grinned. "Thinkin' like a soldier enough for ya, Ian?"

Ian gave a small smile. "I'll have you covered all the way through."

"Damn right you will…"

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The team in the van were getting restless. Don wanted to know what was being said in that room, but he'd made a promise to Ian. He knew that Colby had needed to be talked down. And he also knew that stuff that was way up high on the 'classified' list was going to be discussed. But still… His fingers reached towards the control panel. Meg silently watched him, her look questioning. As his fingers brushed the panel, the doors of the van opened suddenly, making him jump violently. "Jesus!" He spun around to be confronted with Colby's face peering into the van.

"Hey guys. Havin' fun?" Colby grinned and opened the doors. Ian stood behind him, his arms crossed and a small smile playing around his lips. He shrugged at Don. A sign that things were back on track. "Don't worry, Don. Ian's given me the full talk. It's all good."

Don couldn't help but notice the angry bruise on Ian's jaw. Yeah. Sure. They'd _talked _things through. Don filed it away for later. He had his own talk with Colby coming after all this was sorted out. He nodded curtly at the men.

And that was it. For the moment…

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The motel room was sparse to say the least. Philip Bernard didn't need much in the way of creature comforts. Just a good light source so that he could clean his gun properly. The rifle was laid out on the bed, each piece gleaming blue-black in the low light. Phil sat, almost lovingly stroking the barrel that rested in his hands. He studied its flawless surface, his expert eye running over every millimetre of the metal. Hitting an FBI mark wasn't usually in his line of business, but the woman had hauled his arse out of Kosovo, so he guessed he owed her. Honestly? He didn't care either way about Colby Granger or this David Sinclair. If he was brutally honest, he didn't give a crap about Diane either. She was nuts. Three months of interrogation by the Kosovo secret police had sent her spinning over the edge of madness. She was obsessed with revenge, bloody obsessed. Phil? Well, Phil just wanted an easy life. Sure, it would be nice to even the score with Granger, but Phil knew deep down that Granger hadn't taken the shot, nor was he directly responsible for his own brother's death. He was just a patsy as far as Phil was concerned. An inconvenience. That shot had been taken by a sniper. Pure and simple. He placed the barrel down on the bed next to the scope and picked up the firing mechanism. His reflexes on automatic, he began to clean it meticulously, his mind wandering. He'd seen Armstrong's body. The shot that had killed him had been a headshot to the left temple. There's no way that Colby could have killed Armstrong. But hey, the woman had called in a debt _and _she was paying well. God alone knows where she'd got the money from – Armstrong was a resourceful and dangerous woman.

Philip Bernard had plans of his own. Fine, he'd play along in her little game. Then? Well, Phil knew who full well that Michael Armstrong had been a traitor. He had a gut feeling that his own brother's death had been at the hands of the scumbag all along. He'd let her have her five minutes of revenge. Then, he'd have his own…

The door practically came off its hinges as Colby kicked it down, his sidearm pointing directly at Bernard. "Don't even _think _about moving!" He moved quickly into the room, his cold stare fixed on Bernard. Phil swore quietly and slowly raised his hands. Colby didn't need to look at the sniper's rifle on the bed. It was in pieces, no threat. But Bernard was a professional. Not the time to take any chances.

"Down. On your knees. Ankles crossed. Link your fingers, hands behind your head." Colby barked the orders out, the tone of his voice telling Phil quite clearly that non-compliance would immediately result in a bullet between the eyes. He did as he was told. Colby moved carefully towards him, his gun never leaving its target. Don moved in quietly behind him, covering him with his own gun. Colby moved behind the kneeling man and roughly pulled one arm down. Pinning it against the man's back, he slapped the bracelet around his wrist and yanked hard on his other arm, forcing a grunt of pain from the man. "You're under arrest for the murder of two CIA agents, you son of a bitch! _And _for taking a goddamn pot shot at me! You have the right to remain silent…" Phil listened to Colby's voice as he was read his rights, the words meaningless to him. He knew it was over…

Outside the motel, David held his station, covering the back of the room in case the Englishman had tried to bolt. He didn't hear the soft footsteps behind him. A hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, forcing his head back. He tried to struggle but the scratch of a needle in his neck made him wince as he fought with his attacker. David felt his knees buckle and his vision blurred. He tried desperately to call out, but the drug had worked quickly. He gasped and his body slumped back into the unseen, waiting arms of his ambusher. He could feel himself being dragged backwards and thrown into the back of a van. Frantically he tried to take in every detail before the drug really went to work. It was too late. David's world faded into blackness…

TBC…


	8. MIA

Disclaimer:

I refer the honourable reader to my previous disclaimers.

(Whisper! Whisper, whisper, _whisper!_)

Waddya mean, that's not enough? Ohforfu!!'s sake…

I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. I do own the story and the character of Diane Armstrong.

There. Happy?

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Colby dragged the man to his feet by his hair. Don winced as the man yelped in pain. Colby was clearly in no mood to approach this in his usual, measured way. This was a completely different Colby that Don was seeing. He wasn't exactly sure if he felt comfortable with the new image…

"Where is she, Phil?" Colby shoved the man in the small of the back, propelling him stumbling towards the door. Ian moved into the room, deftly side-stepping the handcuffed man. He looked over at the bed and raised an eyebrow.

"Nice. Parker-Hale M85. The weapon of choice for a Brit." He picked up the barrel and ran an expert eye over it. "How the hell did you get this into the US?"

Bernard turned his head and snarled. "Your so-called customs ain't as good as you like to think, mate. You'd be amazed at what you can get past those bozos."

Colby grinned. "Well, that's smuggling to add to the murders. Importing illegal firearms, being a general pain in the ass, being _dumb _enough to get caught, man, Diane isn't gonna be too pleased with you, is she Phil?"

"Oh, I think Diane has other things on her mind, Captain, don't you?"

Colby took a deep breath. "Oh, dude, you are _really _trying my patience! Seriously, you always this annoying?" He grabbed the man roughly by the arm and marched him outside to the van. Don watched him go and turned to Ian.

"Anything you wanna tell me, Ian?"

"About what?"

"About Colby?"

"Nothing that's relevant at this point." Ian kept his back to Don. Don walked up behind the man and Ian turned to meet him, a questioning look on his face.

"I need to know, Ian. I need to know that I can trust Col."

"You can trust him, Don."

"I don't mean like that. I mean his judgement. The last thing I need right now is for Colby to start loosing his focus."

"I don't think you need to worry about that, Don. Colby is _very _focused, believe me."

"And that's your expert opinion, Ian?"

Before Ian could answer, Colby came sprinting through the door, a look of fury and frantic concern on his face.

"She's got David…"

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Colby was desperately trying to think. He paced outside the motel room, the flashing lights of the FBI sedans flickering across his concerned features. All around Colby was tense, organised chaos. Agents and SOCO teams scoured the area for clues. David had just vanished into thin air. No warning, no sign, no witnesses. Don walked up behind him and laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "Hey."

"This is crazy. The bitch is playing games with us."

"I know. Ian's trying to track her, but all he's found are drag marks around the back. Looks like she either knocked him unconscious and dragged him out, or…"

"Or she drugged him. Trust me, that's more her style. She's physically very strong for a woman, Don. She'd have no trouble throwing David into the back of a car, conscious or unconscious. But she'd need to subdue him first. Classic snatch. I just _don't _get it. Why? Why would she take one _hell _of a risk like that? The whole area is swarming with freakin' agents!"

"She's taunting us." Ian walked up to the two men, dusting his hands on his jeans. "Showing us she can get to any of us at any time, no matter how well covered we think we are."

Don scowled. "What the fuck am I dealing with here, Col? Marta freakin' Hari?"

Colby nodded. "A modern-day version, yeah. With added interrogation skills, a real liking for high explosives and buckets o' crazy." He ran a hand through his hair and suddenly wrenched the door of the sedan open. He hauled Bernard from the back seat and slammed him backwards into the side of the car. His hand wound carefully around Bernard's throat, the fingers probing for _exactly _the right spot…

"Col…" Don's voice had a warning tone to it. Ian touched his arm and silently shook his head. This was his and Colby's world. Not Don's.

Bernard knew what was happening. There was a pressure point just to the right of the carotid artery that, if pressed, would cause intense pain, nausea and eventually cause the victim to pass out. Colby knew exactly what he was doing. His finger found the spot and he slowly applied pressure… "Where, scumbag? Where's she taken him?"

Phil gagged, feeling the wave of pain surge through his body. His knees started to buckle and he gasped. "I…I don't…"

"You don't know? Bullshit." The pressure increased. Don was becoming increasingly alarmed. It wasn't the fact that Colby was using interrogation tactics that were _way _off script. It was the fact that he was so goddamn calm about it. "Where?" Colby asked him again, his voice completely level. There was no trace of the explosive rage that Don knew was consuming his agent.

His agent. Huh. That was a joke, right? Right now, Colby wasn't his agent any more. He had no more influence over Colby than he had over Diane Armstrong. This vendetta between the two of them had become out of control. David's life was at stake.

"That's _enough, _Col!" Don's voice was sharp. "Enough." He pulled Colby's arm away from the man's throat. "We do this our way, Col. Not yours. Are we clear?" He stood nose to nose with the man, his determination to regain control absolute. Colby faced him, silent for a second. Without another word, he pushed the gasping Bernard back into the car and slammed the door shut. He turned and started to walk away, his head bowed. "Colby!" Don grabbed him by the shoulder and spun the man back to face him. He spat the words out, his patience gone. "You listen to me, Granger. I don't give a damn how personal you think this is, David is one of my people. Which means that a federal agent has been kidnapped by a, what is it you people say? Known hostile? So, here's how things are gonna pan out. She is expecting us to play by your dumb-ass, stupid cloak and dagger shit rules." Colby opened his mouth to speak, an angry retort on his lips. Don held up a hand and stopped him. "No, I said LISTEN! We don't play that game, Col. We do it our way. The _right _way, Col! The way that means everyone comes out of this shitstorm alive, understand? _UNDERSTAND?_"

Time seemed to freeze. Don knew that this moment was make or break for Colby Granger. Either he would continue to be an FBI agent, or it was over. Colby would go back to his old life – a life of lies, deceit, double crosses and probably, ultimately, a bullet. Or? Well, or he pulled himself back from the edge. Remembered the humanity, remembered the honourable way to do things. Remembered that he was an FBI agent. Right here, right now was where Colby made that decision…

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David felt sick. Violently sick. His head was resting on his chest as his eyes fluttered open, the world cold and out of focus. He could feel the restraints at his wrists and ankles. They bit into his skin. Plastic. Cable ties. Thick ones, too. There was no way he could break free of them.

The world suddenly got a lot colder and a lot wetter. The bucket of icy water hit him full in the face and he gasped, spluttering for breath. His sodden shirt, ripped open to the waist, clung to his body, the cold seeping quickly into his skin. "Wakey wakey, David." The woman's voice was soft and deeply menacing. "Rise and shine, old son." A finger was placed under his chin and he felt his head being tipped up. Still trying to focus, a face came into his range of vision. The fuzziness started to lift and Diane Armstrong's features came into view. She smiled warmly at him. "There ya are!" She pulled the finger away from under his chin and his head dropped back onto his chest. He was still very woozy from the drug. "Sorry 'bout that, but ya know. Had to wake you up somehow. Can't have you snoozing through the main attraction, now, can I?"

"You're not gonna get away with this." David's words were slurred, thick in his mouth.

"Sorry? Did you…oh, you _didn't_! You did, didn't you? You just came out with the old 'you're not gonna get away with this' line!" Diane laughed merrily. "Dude, you think I don't know that? You think I'm not _counting _on that?" She crossed her arms, all trace of mirth instantly gone. "You're bait, old son. Bait. To catch a particularly nasty little bastard fish called Colby Granger. Now ya see, I've got a _lot _of patience, Agent Sinclair. A _lot_. Which means I can wait for as long as it takes. This kinda isn't good for you, though, David." She bent down and checked the restraints. "Comfy?" David slowly raised his head. He was millimetres from her. Without warning, he lunged his head forward, head-butting her squarely in the face. She fell back, rolled and sprang up to her feet like a cat, a furious look on her face. A trickle of blood ran from one nostril. Her eyes were filled with utter rage. "Oh, man, that was _silly_. I mean, off the scale silly, David. What the hell did you hope to achieve with that? Let me know that you're gonna fight me all the way? Some kind of defiant stand against your interrogator?" She shot forward, her hands clamping around his wrists, her face this time just out of reach. Their eyes locked. "You forget, Agent Sinclair. This is _my _world you're in now. Not that fluffy, playing by the rules shit-fest you live in. This is _real, _Agent Sinclair. And it's just about to get _real nasty…"_

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Charlie and Megan glanced up as Don walked into the office. Behind him, Colby and Ian followed silently. Megan could sense the tension between them. "Sit." Don barked out the order and Colby walked wordlessly to his desk. He sat down heavily, not looking at the rest of the team. Ian stood quietly in a corner, next to Colby. If Colby blew up, he needed to be there to stop it. Don stared hard at his agent. "So?"

Colby looked up. Don studied the man intensely, looking for any indication. Any clue…

"She's a trained interrogator. Which means she'll revert to type. Take the detainee to an unfamiliar location, probably dark. She won't move far. Part of the game is to do this right under our noses. So she'll be close by." Don silently breathed a sigh of relief. Colby's tone was measured, calm. He knew he was still frantically worried about his friend and partner, but he was also good enough an agent to realise that they needed to plan exactly how they were going to end this without further loss of life. Colby had made his decision. He had decided to stay as part of the team. He was no longer a military spook. He was FBI. Thank god for that…

Don's voice softened. "Okay. So an abandoned warehouse, something like that?"

Colby nodded. "Probably. She spent a lot of time in places like that. It's an environment she's familiar with, for whatever reasons. She feels in control."

"So we have to work out exactly where. Charlie?"

"Hmm?"

"Any ideas?"

Charlie immediately kicked into gear. "I can employ a grid matrix that will include any variables such as warehouses, storage facilities, that kinda thing within a set radius. You estimate she's reasonably close?"

"She'd have to be. To be able to study our reactions."

"Okay. So I'll factor in a, what, ten mile radius?"

"That still gives us a hell of a lot of ground to cover, Charlie."

Charlie turned to Colby. "Anything else? Anything you can think of that we can use to narrow it down?"

Colby thought. His mind wandered back. Kosovo. She'd been sent in undercover for the military. She'd been double-crossed and the secret police had snatched her in the middle of a firefight. A sniper had taken out two other agents she had been working with. A bomb in a restaurant had given the secret police the cover they'd needed to grab a senior British agent. Realisation suddenly hit him. She was going through the whole damn scenario! "JESUS!" Colby sat bolt upright.

"Tell me that whatever you've just thought of is a good thing, Col." Don fixed his attention on the man.

"We have twenty four hours."

"How the hell do you know that?"

Colby spun around and faced Ian. "Ian? Think about it. Kosovo." He stared intently at his friend.

"Kosovo?" Ian frowned. Then, slowly, his eyes widened. "Crap."

"You two wanna stop talking in code here and let the rest of us in?" Don's tone was sharp again.

"I'm sorry, Don. Look." Colby stood up and paced, agitated. "Armstrong was what is called a ghost in intelligence circles. Someone who's trained to go in deep undercover. When you're in that situation, you've got no backup, nobody to get you out if the shit hits the fan. You're on your own. We…" he paused. "_She _understood that. She knows the risks. But if you get snatched because someone's double-crossed you, or informed on you, it kinda eats away inside at you. You try and think how it could've happened, how you could've changed things. You _need _to take that control back. Otherwise it sends you crazy." Don hadn't missed the correction. He knew that Colby was speaking from personal experience too. "So you go back over the scenario. Repeat it in your head, over and over. Try and work out why it went wrong. So here's the thing. Four years ago, just after the friendly fire thing with her brother, Armstrong got deployed into Kosovo. Things were kinda shaky there at the time. Everything that's happened over the last two days? It's an exact replica of the way things panned out over there. She's repeating it, trying to change the ending. Trying to take back control. At _any _cost."

"It's common with sociopaths, Don. Colby's right. They get stuck in some kinda loop. Repeating a pattern, over and over again. Until they feel that they have control of it." Megan frowned. "What I don't understand is the connection here between you and her. You weren't in Kosovo, were you?"

"No." Colby shook his head.

"So why include you in this?"

"Because the one who double-crossed her was her own brother." Ian stood up. "She's under the impression that if he hadn't've died, and supposedly at my hand in her mind, things would've gone differently for her in Kosovo. Her brother had already made his contacts in Kosovo aware of his sister's possible deployment. Months before she went out there and months before he died. She was already known to them."

"She can't accept that her brother betrayed her." Megan pressed a hand to her forehead. "My god, she is seriously messed up, Don."

"Transference." Megan nodded. "It's a classic case of transference. Things have got so confused in her mind that she believes by torturing and then killing Colby, she's killing the betrayal of her own brother. That doesn't necessarily mean actual, physical torture. It can mean the mental kind as well. So she grabs someone close to Colby, making him feel responsible for his friend's pain. He gets lured into her web…"

"And like a spider, she strikes." Charlie finished the sentence off for Meg. "David's bait."

"So she's engaged in some kind of, what? Fantasy role-playing game?" Don was confused. "Seriously?"

"Never more so, Don. In that world, the line between reality and your own perception of what is really going on gets a little…_blurred_." Colby's voice was quiet. Don knew that he was in the middle of fighting his own internal struggle with exactly the same feelings as Diane had succumbed to. He also knew damn well that Armstrong's plan to mentally torture Colby was working. "If she is re-enacting it, then we've gotta move fast."

"Why? What happened next?"

"She was tortured…"

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David choked back another shout of pain. He wouldn't give this bitch the satisfaction of showing how much she was hurting him. He raised his eyes, glaring at her. The pressure pads on his temples, neck and chest burned like cigarette ends being pressed into his flesh. Every time she flicked that switch, he could feel the current coursing through his body, making every nerve fibre feel as if it were being torn apart. "Why are you doing this?" His voice was hoarse, a whisper.

"Because I can." She shrugged. "Because I want you and your friends to know exactly what we have to suffer for in the name of patriotism. In the name of the _greater good_." She paced in front of him. "Because people like _you_, David, have never had to go through what we've been through. Tell ya what. When Colby gets here, oh, and he _will_, trust me, why don't you ask him, huh?"

"What's all this in aid of, Diane?"

"That's _Captain Armstrong _to you, soldier!" She moved frighteningly quickly and the backhander caught David square in the mouth. He felt the sharp tang of iron in his mouth as the blood flowed. He spat the blood out, aiming at her.

"I'm not a soldier, Diane. I'm a federal agent. And this isn't a battle zone."

She stood, frozen. David could see that the woman was completely mad. Insane. He could see the internal fight she was going through, trying desperately to work out what would happen next. David knew that he was a heartbeat away from dying. It all depended on the whim of a madwoman…

"You're…yes, of course. You're right, Agent Sinclair." She smiled gently. "It's not a combat situation. But then, it never was, was it? Huh?"

"I don't understand…"

"_EXACTLY! You…don't…UNDERSTAND!" _The madness flashed to the surface again. "But this time it's different, ya see? This time it'll end as it's _supposed _to. The right way." She reached inside her jacket and David braced himself, expecting her hand to come out holding a gun – a gun that would mean it was all over for him. "Tell ya what, Agent Sinclair. Why don't we find out how Colby wants this to end? Waddya say to that?" She grinned and pulled out a cell-phone. "Now. What's his number again? One eight hundred _traitor_?"

David held his breath…

**_TBC..._**


	9. Random Variables

Disclaimer:

May it please the court: In the instance of my possible, probable or perceived dibbsies on anything whatsoever to do with Numb3rs, I can categorically state that I have no rights whatsoever, at all, nada, nuffin, _zip. _

But in my defence, if I may present exhibit a – the story, and exhibit b – the character of Diane Armstrong. They're mine, and if anyone says otherwise, I'll whack 'em with a spoon.

I rest my case.

This has been a disclaimer.

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Charlie stared at the computer screen, analysing the data that spilled out before him. He ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. Too many variables. The search area covered the main freight rail terminal, five goods yards, a dozen industrial units, part of the docks… Charlie screwed his eyes shut and his fists clenched. Damn it, there _had _to be a defining factor here, something he was missing. The trouble was that he was dealing with a wildly fluctuating variable here, something that had no discernible pattern. Diane Armstrong was like some kind of crazed proton, bouncing violently around the nucleus of an atom. Even protons had algorithms. He just had to think, think...

He glanced up as Don walked quietly into the room. "Anything?"

"It's too random, Don. I need…I need a catalyst. Something that acts as a connecting factor between the bits of data, something that is fundamental to the basic structure of the problem."

"Which would be?"

"Ya know? I have absolutely _no idea_." Don could hear the frustration in his brother's voice. He knew how much Charlie didn't like to be beaten by any problem. And how worried he was about David. Charlie paced, worrying at the problem like a dog worries at a bone. "One thing. One single thing that connects all of it. What's her motivation?"

"What she believes as a personal betrayal."

"Okay, by whom?"

"Well, she believes that Colby…"

"No, no, no, I don't mean that. What meant more to her than anything else?"

Don shrugged. "Well, she was a career soldier…"

Charlie stopped his pacing instantly and stared at his brother. "Say that again."

"What, that she was a career soldier? Well, I guess the biggest betrayal she feels is from the army. They didn't come and get her out of Kosovo, she feels that she was abandoned by the very people she thought she could count on."

"Okay. Let's start thinking like her."

"I'd rather not…"

Charlie stopped and shrugged at his brother. Don smiled faintly and held his hand up in apology. "Okay, Charlie. Thinkin' like her."

"Good. So. She's out for revenge, out for hurting her alleged enemies, the people she feels have wronged her the most by what? Going after them in the most personal way she can. Not just killing them, that would be too easy. But by _exposing _them. By making them look vulnerable. By showing their enemies that they're fallible. By exposing them and their flaws. Once that's done, suddenly they don't look so imposing to their enemies any more. I've studied this at the NSA, Don. It's sounds complicated, but it's actually a basic, counter-intelligence poker matrix."

"_Poker _matrix?"

"That was the nickname we gave it. It's like a game of poker. If you think someone has a better hand than you, you fold, right? You decide not to take them on? Because the odds are that you're gonna loose your money, right?" Don nodded. "But if your opponent has a tell, a sign that he can't help but give away when he has a poor hand, say, oh, I dunno, an eye-twitch, then you know when you can move in and take his pot. Counter intelligence is exactly the same. It's a matter of trying to out-bluff your opponents, trying to seek out their tells, their weak points and then, bam. Move in and take the pot." Charlie sat on the edge of the table and grinned. "Our random variable has suddenly become less random, Don. Oh, don't get me wrong, she's got her own little agenda, sure. But that's not what this is about." He leaned forward. "She was, in her mind, _abandoned _to her fate in Kosovo. From what Colby said, tortured. So is it beyond the realms of possibility that she turned? That she's working for a hostile government? A government that would be more than happy to see some home grown instability in the US?" He paused again, letting Don take in what he had said.

"She's getting _paid _to do this, Don. She's working for someone…"

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Colby was going quietly crazy. He wanted to be out, looking. Hunting her down, getting to David and making sure that his friend and partner was okay. The knot in the pit of his stomach tightened. He knew what she'd do. He knew that David was in terrible danger. This game, this stupid, _stupid _game she was playing! Didn't make sense. None of it made sense. He made a conscious effort to calm himself down. Think. Think clearly. What did she hope to gain from this? His death? His humiliation? What? All of the freakin' _above_? He picked up a cup without thinking and took a mouthful of cold coffee. Grimacing, he glared at the cup and went to put it back down on his desk. As he did, his eye caught something – something that he had missed… His hand hovered in mid-air, the coffee cup still grasped between his fingers. "Son of a _BITCH!" _He slammed the coffee cup down. "I know where she is!" He picked up the file on the bomb that had nearly killed him a few days earlier. The address made sense now. That was no random bombing…

At that moment, Charlie and Don rushed back into the office. Don spoke quickly to Colby. "Colby, think. And I need you to be perfectly candid with me. This area we're looking at. Are there any military safe houses, warehouses that may have been used by your people? Anything with a military connection?"

Colby nodded. "I've just realised it myself. The restaurant? It's only four blocks away from an industrial complex. It's been abandoned for the last two years. One of the units in there was used by us to interrogate prisoners." Colby's voice faltered. Dark memories of a more clandestine past bubbled to the surface. He'd done things he wasn't proud of. Things that _had _to be done, for the sake of national security. Don had seen a brief glimpse of his _specialist _interrogation skills earlier with Bernard. That was nothing… "The collapse of the Baltic states had led to a flood of illegal arms, a lot of them supplied to terrorist organisations. These people would sell to the highest bidder, regardless of political agenda. A lot of stuff was going through Kosovo and ending up here. Just before I joined the FBI, we were working a case with the CIA and military intelligence. We'd raided a delivery and had a couple of detainees. We interrogated them in that warehouse. The result was that we managed to stop a full-blown battle between two rival warlords. We took one side down, but the top people in the other organisation got away. Probably back to the Baltic. But if they're back and in the game again…"

"Then they could be looking for a way to get their people back. _And _any opportunity to make us look weak. Part of their so-called honour code, presumably."

Colby nodded. "Never leave a man in the hands of the enemy. Yeah. Honour."

Don carried on. "Okay. We need to know the exact layout of that wareho…" He stopped abruptly as the phone on Colby's desk rang. Colby mouthed a silent apology and picked the receiver up. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped…

Slowly, he turned to face Don. "I think you'd better hear this." He pressed speakerphone and replaced the handset. His face was pale with barely suppressed fury.

"_You put me on speakerphone there, CJ? Well, I guessed as much. Hi everyone!" _Diane Armstrong's voice was bright and cheerful. "_How are you all?" _

"What do you want, Diane?"

"_Oh, Diane now, is it? Well, guess that was inevitable. I have a proposition for you, Special Agent Eppes. A proposition that will see everyone benefit out of this rather…unpleasant…situation."_

Don glanced quickly at Colby and shook his head. Don't give her any intel. Don't give her any indication that they knew as much as they did. Colby was silent. "We don't deal with terrorists, Diane."

"_I'm not a terrorist, Agent Eppes. I'm a freelancer. Nothing more. Here's the deal. And yes, yes, I heard you about not doing deals. But just have a listen, okay? Colby? You listening, sweetheart?"_

Colby's hands balled into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms. "I'm listening." He hissed the words through clenched teeth.

"_Adda boy. Okay. Now think back, sweetie. Remember a couple of Ukrainians you had one of your little __**chats**__ with a few years back? I presume that you know where they are right now. Rotting in some max security military prison, right? __**Right**__?" _Colby grunted in reply. "_Good. Well, tell you what, honey, why don't you go have a little heart to heart with the top brass, see if you can get them released, there's a good little soldier? Once they're free and clear, your friend walks out of here with all his fingers pointing in the right direction. But, gotta tell ya, kiddo. There's a bit of a deadline on this. Say, oh, what, twelve hours?"_

"You know I can't do that." Colby could barely hold his rage in check. But he forced his voice to be as calm as possible.

"_Aww, man, I SO wish you hadn't have said that, CJ. I don't think David will be very happy, will you Dave?" _A man's scream of agony blasted through the speakerphone, making everyone's guts churn.

Colby couldn't stop himself any longer. "You BITCH! You DIRTY, CRAZY BITCH! I swear, Armstrong, I _fucking swear! _I am gonna _hunt you down_ and…"

Diane interrupted him, her voice utterly cold. "Make the call, Colby. Eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes. Tick, tick, tick…"

The phone line went dead.

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The team was silent. None of them could stop thinking about that scream of pain. Don watched Colby like a hawk. The man was barely holding it together…

"Col. A word." He walked out of the room and into the corridor, waiting for the man to follow him. As Colby turned into the hallway, Don suddenly grabbed him and pushed him through the open doorway of an interrogation room. He slammed the door behind him, his back pressed against it.

"Right. That is _it, _Col. No more secrets, no more little hints and furtive glances, it STOPS, now!"

"Waddya want me to say, Don? Huh? That I'm sorry? That I'm sorry that David is being tortured by some crazy fucking lunatic who doesn't see anything wrong in screwing with people's lives for money? Welcome to the world of double agents, Don! Remember? Remember when you thought _I _was that person? Huh?" Colby raged at Don.

"David is out there, Colby, and it's all for a pathetic game of _swap the fucking spy_?"

"Don't you mean David is out there and it's all my fault he's being tortured?"

"No, Col, I _don't _mean that. Let's not make this about you any more, huh?" Don stopped for a moment, thinking, thinking… "Look. She's been employed by these Ukrainians or whatever the hell they are to get their people back right? So, in the process, she gets herself a little bit of private vengeance. But let's put that to one side for the moment. Because Colby? When we find her?" He walked up to the man, stopping inches from his face. His finger jabbed sharply at the man and his voice dropped to a whisper for a moment. "You have my full permission to put a bullet between that bitches eyes. No questions asked. But we have a bigger picture here now. One that involves national security. One that, if we don't do something _real _quick, could mean we've got a turf war on our hands that would make the nineteen eighties gang wars look like a fucking holiday picnic!"

Don paused, studying the man's face. Poker matrix. Look for a tell. A sign... "I need you to work with me on this one, Granger. I need you to _focus_. Ian said you were. Focused. Prove it. Give me something to work with here."

Colby's whole demeanour suddenly changed. "Don, please. I'm _begging _you! Please stop thinking of me as being like her! I'm _not _the enemy here! I know that you, David, Megan, hell, even Charlie have been dragged back into something that you'd much rather didn't exist, but I'm sorry, there it is. She's just using us to get what she wants. Please. Stop trying to keep me on some kinda FBI leash, always worrying that I'm gonna go nutso on you and put the entire team at risk. Christ, isn't it enough that David's in trouble? Huh? No, wait, listen to me Don." He stopped Don from turning his back on him. "I know exactly how she thinks. What _you _need to _get fucking _over Don, is that fact. It doesn't mean I'm gonna go psycho like her. It doesn't work like that.

"How _does _it work, Colby?"

"Simple." Colby stood back, his arms crossed, a look of quiet reservation on his face. "Extraction. Get David out. Then?" He smiled slowly. "Well, although I would very much like to get that bitch out alive so we can prosecute her by the book and all, but you _did _mention something about a bullet between the eyes…" His smile faded and his expression was deadly serious. "Alive, Don. _Everyone _gets out alive, including her…"

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The door scraped open, the echoes rattling around the empty warehouse. Two sets of footsteps, the pace purposeful and rapid, approached. David, his head on his chest and his eyes closed, listened to their sound, each step sounding more impending than the last. He opened his eyes and looked up, the bare bulb shining directly in his eyes. He couldn't see a damn thing, just two indistinct outlines as the figures marched towards him. Yes. Marched. That was the word. Crap…

"Is this him?" The accent was thick, clipped. A rough hand grabbed the back of David's neck and his head was lurched upwards. The man's face was inches from his.

"Mind him Demetri, he's got a nasty little headbutting habit." Diane's voice was spiteful, filled with sarcastic venom. Don't underestimate the bugger, either." David heard the clink of a Zippo and the pungent odour of a cigarette waft towards him. Diane appeared next to the man who had David's head in a vice-like grip. They both peered at him, as if they were examining a specimen under a microscope.

"What are the chances this will this work, Armstrong?"

"I'm a soldier, my friend. I don't work in chances." She dropped the cigarette and ground it into the dirt. "I've been working on this for six months, Demitri. It's called seizing an opportunity. You see, there's nothing that's gonna eat into the security services confidence than having to negotiate the life of one agent for two supposed terrorists. It'll make a mockery of their whole 'we don't deal with terrorists' routine. I was counting on Colby's over-inflated opinion of his importance in all this, you know, the whole 'burning martyr' routine, that he won't be able to stop himself attempting some kinda gung-ho shit that'll result in the deaths of several federal agents in a shoot-out with the Russian Mafia." She laughed sharply. "Seriously! You can't buy that kinda publicity!" She giggled again. "Every card-carrying scumbag of a criminal, no offence mate, will be pissing themselves laughing at the whole house of cards, it'll be a fucking bloodbath on the streets. Then, when it's all panned out, reached an equilibrium, guess which particular piece of shit floats to the top of the pile?" She slapped the man on the shoulder. "That'd be _you_, my old mucker!" There was that bitter laugh again. "I reckon I've earned my fee, don't you?"

The man turned and looked at her, a hard, black cast in his eyes. "You will have earned your fee, Captain, when my brothers are released. What if they don't negotiate? What if they're willing to sacrifice this man's life? What then, Captain?"

The woman shrugged. "Well, then I guess it's back to plan A, old son…"

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Colby stood in front of the plan. "We have three exposed entrances, a bank of windows down the east side of the building. Roof is a no-go."

Ian raised a hand. "Why a no-go?"

"The whole thing is as rotten as a pear. You climb on that thing, you'll go straight through the timbers. Not the most elegant of entrances for a SWAT team, Ian. The best approach is from the north, through this alleyway. If she's got surveillance operational on the building, and I'm guessing that's one of the first things she'd do, that's the only blind spot on the whole perimeter."

"So you're saying that she'll see us coming from any other direction?"

"The whole place is ringed with cameras. The main surveillance unit is still installed. Unless there've been some pretty determined camera thieves around, she'd have that system up and running before she made any move on grabbing David. She's not stupid, Don. Be very aware of that. She may be _crazy_, but she ain't dumb."

"Know your enemy, Don." Don looked at Ian, searching for any of that dry, mocking humour in what seemed to be a clichéd phrase. There was none. He was deadly serious. He was confirming Colby's affirmation that the woman should not be underestimated.

"She'll have an escape route planned. Believe me, I don't think she's as ready to die as everyone seems to think. She'll automatically kick into escape and evade mode. And she'll have that planned out beforehand, too. My guess is she's set some kinda booby-trap. And we all know her penchant for high explosives. Remember the restaurant?"

"Are we sure it was her?"

"The bomb was high grade plastique. _Russian _plastique, Don. It has a unique chemical signature. The lab boys analysed it for me. It was her alright." He sat back on the edge of the table and sighed. "This is my mess, guys. And like it or not, this is what I'm trained to do. I'm going in there, Don, one way or another…"

**_TBC…_**


	10. Dark Skies over DC

This is a disclaimer! NOBODY MOVE! Open the register and fill it with denial about owning anything to do with Numb3rs! Then slowly, reeeeeeal slowly, put in the story and the character of Diane Armstrong! They're mine anyway!

Now step away from the desk – you push that silent alarm and I'll bring this _whole goddamn place down!_

This has probably been the weirdest disclaimer you've ever read…

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Colby stood quietly, studying the layout of the warehouse and its surrounding area, re-familiarising himself with every angle, every vantage point, every potential trap. The authority for a snatch and grab mission had been given the go-ahead. Don had relented. This was a military operation, not an FBI one. He had to let Colby and Ian take the lead on this one. He was in unfamiliar territory now, and only those two had any kind of map. Colby and Ian were both SWAT trained. They would be leading a small team in, with Colby on point. Ian would be covering from a nearby rooftop, but would be ready to move in if needed. The FBI team would be out front, covering the most obvious exit route. Colby had warned them. "If she shoots, she's gonna go for a head shot. Body armour is gonna be no use in this case." He had paused. "Wear a hat." The flippant line was filled with meaning. Keep your heads down.

Don looked out over the city from the roof of the federal building towards the Lehman Brothers block across the street. He was sure. Sure they were missing something…

Don turned and walked back into the building, turning things over in his mind. This was all so goddamn convoluted! Why set up the security forces like this? What the hell were they hoping to achieve? As he had said to Colby earlier, this wasn't just about personal revenge now. Sure, that was a small sideline of Diane's, but it was bluff, counter bluff and double bluff. There was something else…

The lift doors opened and Don stepped out into the office. He could see Colby alone in one of the side rooms, staring at the floorplan of the warehouse. The man looked deep in thought. He was already dressed in the black fatigues of SWAT and Don suddenly thought that he had never looked more comfortable. His posture was relaxed – he seemed to _fit _the uniform. Not Agent Granger. _Captain _Granger. Yeah. One hundred percent…

Don pushed the door open and walked in quietly. Colby turned abruptly and a small flicker of a smile flashed across his face. "Hey."

"Hey yourself. Problem?"

"No. Just checkin', is all." Colby frowned. "Back at ya with the problem question, Don."

Don sighed and perched on the edge of the table next to Colby. For some reason, he finally felt that he could talk candidly to his junior officer. "I dunno. Are we missing something here, Col?"

"Like?"

"That's the problem. I have no idea. Just this kinda nagging, gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach."

"You had lunch?"

"Col…"

"Sorry." The man flashed that smile again. "I know what you mean, though. We managed to get anything from Bernard?"

"Megan is with him now. You know how persuasive she can be when she gets going." Don rubbed his face. "Col, we have eight hours left. Any word on those two comrades she wants released?"

"No go. Never was any chance of that happening. That's why I'm still a bit confused about this whole damn thing. She's a good soldier, Don. And a good agent. She _knew _damn well that we'd never agree to the release. Not even for the sake of David's life. So she's expecting a rescue mission. If she is in the pay of the warlords, what the hell can she hope to achieve by creating a fucking bloodbath in the middle of downtown LA? It…I dunno. Something just isn't making any sense here." Colby crossed his arms and turned to Don. "Any thoughts?"

Don stared at the map, lost in thought.

"Don?"

"Col, could she be a triple?"

"Oh, _man_, don't give me a freakin' headache, dude!"

"I'm serious."

"Jesus, if she is, she's been goddamn convincing!"

"So were you, Col." Don spoke the words quietly. He felt like he was going back on his promise never to throw Colby's past back in his face again. "I don't have the contacts to find out." He looked at Colby.

"But I do, right?" Don nodded. Colby didn't respond. He stared at the map, not making eye contact with his boss. "You have any idea how hard I've tried to put all this shit behind me, Don? Huh?" He laughed quietly to himself. "Well, guess a leopard can't change its spots. Once a spook, always a spook, right?"

"Colby…"

"No seriously, Don, it's okay." Colby sighed deeply. "Guess runnin' away from it just made it all the clearer to me. Tryin' to be a good little FBI agent just didn't cut it with me, did it?" He looked at Don, his green eyes sad. "When all this is over, I'm gonna take that DC job, Don. I think it's best for everyone."

"I don't want that, Col. I want you as part of my team."

"That's never gonna happen. I'll never be part of the team again. I'm the same as Ian, Don. We're both soldiers, not agents. Sure, we carry the same badges as you, but that's about the only goddamn similarity we have with you, or David or Meg. You know that, I know that. I think my, um, _talents _would probably serve a better cause somewhere else."

"I don't think David'll see it like that, Colby."

Colby's voice suddenly had a hard edge to it. "David'll be just fine." He pushed himself off the corner of the desk and turned to face his boss. "I have a phonecall to make." He nodded curtly and walked wordlessly towards the door. As his hand touched the doorhandle…

"Colby?" Colby stopped dead and turned his head, glancing over his shoulder at Don's back. Don turned and faced him, his features hard. "This conversation isn't over. When this is all finished, you and I are going to resume where we left off. Clear?"

Colby turned the handle and walked out without another word…

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Colby found a quiet spot on the roof. He didn't know that it was exactly the same spot that Don had just vacated…

He flipped his cell-phone out and pressed a combination of numbers. He waited…"Granger. I need to talk to Clarkson." There was a pause as the line was connected. A click told Colby that the recorders had been activated. He shrugged. Same old, same old…

"_Granger. Long time no speak."_

"Cut the crap, Clarkson."

"_How's things?"_

"Like you don't know already. We go in in three hours."

"_Good. Colby, I'd really appreciate it if you could see your way to __**not**__ shoot Captain Armstrong in the head. We've recently discovered that she's more use to us alive."_

"And why exactly would that be then, Clarkson, huh? What possible use could a rogue be to you?"

"_She can give us information about the Kosovo connection, the same way as you gave us intel on the Chinese, Colby, c'mon man! You know how this works!"_ Clarkson's voice took on a whiny, pleading tone, as if he assumed that Colby would just agree with him.

Colby's fingers tensed around the phone. "I can't make any promises. Just confirm one thing for me. Is she a triple?"

"_Whoa, blunt and to the point, ain't ya? Always liked that about you, Colby. No, she's not. She's been off-script for over a year. We didn't think too much of it at the start. The usual notice was issued concerning her_." Colby knew what that meant. Shoot on sight. She had spent the last year running around with at least two targets on her back. And she was still alive. Jesus, she was playing one fuck-off dangerous game! "_Once we got over the Chinese problem with you, we turned our attention back to your old partner, Col. We knew she'd be gunning for you as soon as she heard you were back in play. I guess she counted on your, shall we call it, **history** to play this dumb-assed game with everyone. She always did like to play games, didn't she Col?_"

"I worked with her twice, Clarkson. Once in Afghanistan, once in Kosovo. That's all. She was not my fucking partner."

"_Yes, and look how that Kosovo thing turned out for her, my friend. Oh, hang on, I get it! You been lying to your friends again, Col? Told them this is all to do with her brother's death? That you'd only met her the once? Man, you are **priceless**!"_ Clarkson laughed heartily. _"I take it you're gonna go for a reassignment when all this is done, then? After all, they find out about this colossal lie and dude, I promise you, they ain't **never **gonna trust you again!"_ Clarkson's deep, southern drawl made the words sound mocking, taunting his operative. _"Listen, all joking aside, we'll be more than happy to have you back. Truth be told, we were pushing for your reassignment anyway. You're a damn good agent, Colby. **Damn **good. And you're far better than Armstrong. You know that. She got caught. You didn't. Simple math, my friend. Simple math. Bring her back with you. I'll see you soon."_

The line went dead.

Colby snapped the phone shut, and then with a bellow of rage, hurled the phone into the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces. There was _no way_. No way he was going back to that. Not after that conversation. Issued the usual notice. His history with Diane. The phrases rang in his head. Clarkson was manipulating him. Twisting his past in on itself and showing him a side of himself that he'd buried deep inside a dark corner of his mind – aware that it was there, but refusing to acknowledge its existence. If he went back, he'd be dead in a year. Probably at the hands of his own masters. The FBI would never trust him once they got to know the full story and oh believe it, the CIA would make _damn sure_ that Don got to hear about it, every sordid little detail. Then the recriminations would begin all over again. Only this time, they wouldn't give him the benefit of the doubt, would they? Colby covered his face with his hands and screamed in sheer frustration.

He had nowhere left to go…

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David could hear the hushed conversation between the two men and the woman. She spoke their language like a native - fluent, slightly lilting. Like some kind of creepy musical box, it grated on David's conscious. She was in it purely for profit and vengeance. What in the hell had twisted her into this? David almost, for a split second, felt sorry for her. He had seen the mental torment his friend had been through. Colby's uncertainty, his loss of confidence, his refusal to open up to anyone – he could see all of this in her. Only she was a lot further down that particular dark road than his friend and partner was. David was determined. Once he got out of this alive, he would make damn sure that Colby didn't end up like her. The darkest outcome of that would be that, one day, David may have to take his friend down. And he couldn't bear the thought of that ever becoming a possibility…

The conversation broke up and Diane approached David. She dragged a chair behind her, the sound like nails being scraped down a chalkboard. The chair clattered and she sat down, opposite David. "Hey. You doin' okay in there, old son?" There was almost a note of genuine concern in her voice. Almost. But to David, it was just another mocking jest at him. "No, really." She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her thighs, her hands interlocked in front of her. "I'd hate for CJ to think I wasn't taking good care of you."

"Is it important to you what Colby thinks, Diane?" Try to connect with her. Colby would probably kick his arse if he knew, but it was worth a shot.

"Yes." The reply was quiet, thoughtful. "Ya know, me and CJ? We go a long way back, David. He was my wingman in Kosovo, you know. Couldn't have asked for a better partner." Diane's voice sounded wistful. "Of course, that was before I found out that he'd sell his own grandmother if he thought it was for the greater good, but hey, who knew?"

"I thought all this was about your brother?"

Diane let out a short shout of laughter. "Michael? Oh, hell no! I mean, well, yes, that is a little bit of unfinished business there, but ya see, CJ didn't just kill my brother. He abandoned me as well. Left me in Kosovo to rot while he got his own lily-white arse out of the combat zone. Saved his own skin. Betrayed me _and _mine. Double whammy."

"That's not the Colby I know."

"Yeah, well, David, six months ago you thought he was just your partner, didn't you? Just another bog-standard, ordinary Fed. Show's how much you know."

"So this war you've decided to start, Diane. Why now?"

"Because the opportunity presented itself. I've made quite a nice living out of doing this kinda thing, my friend. Hey, let's face it. I've been trained by the best in the world! Your good ol' CIA buddies. I mean, damn! Those guys really have double crossing off down to a tee, don't they? No wonder CJ fits in so well." She leaned forward, an amused, quizzical expression on her face. "David? Are you trying to _connect _with your interrogator?" She leaned back, grinning broadly. "Oh, my! CJ did teach you well, didn't he? Ah, well, here's the thing, sweetie. Guess who taught _him_?"

"Oh, I think I know."

"Bright kid. I like you, David. Listen. I promise, I'll only kill you if I really, really have to. Girl Guide's honour. Let's hope and prey that CJ doesn't give me any cause to change my mind, know what I mean?" She stood up suddenly, pushing the chair away. Glancing at her watch, she frowned. "He's late."

"There's another six hours to the deadline."

"Oh, c'mon. You think CJ's gonna wait to the last minute? Surely he's worked out where you are by now." Her mouth formed a comic 'o'. "Oh gosh! You don't…oh David, you don't think that he's decided not to bother, do you? Because that would be so disappointing! Or even worse, here, try this on for size, perhaps he hasn't _had the brains_ to work it out yet! Waddya think, David? Huh? Waddya think?"

"I think you've gotten to like the sound of your own voice way too much, Di." Colby's voice was icy cold. Diane spun around, the gun already in her hand. Colby faced her, the two Ukrainians lying unconscious or dead on the floor. She couldn't tell for sure which at this distance. Colby stood in front of her, his gun held straight out in front of him. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was a _bitch_." He snarled the excuse at her, a feral look on his face.

A slow smile crept across Diane's face. "CJ! I was worried…a-a-a! I'd stand _very_ still if I were you, sweetheart. Before you decide to do anything rash, perhaps you'd care to take a look at your buddy's new designer body armour?" She stepped to the left, giving Colby a clear view of his partner.

Wrapped around David's torso was enough plastique explosive to blow the entire block into the Pacific Ocean…

**_TBC…_**


	11. Faceoff

Disclaimer

Oh, there's a surprise. You're expecting yet _another _disclaimer. All that flannel about me not owning anything to do with Numb3rs, but owning the story and the character of Diane Armstrong.

Like you don't know, already…

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The two ex-soldiers faced each other across the room. There was a deep connection between them, something that David could never possibly understand.

"Dave, talk to me, dude." Colby's voice was calm. Frighteningly calm.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah? That scream you let out earlier says different, my friend."

"Seriously, Col, I'm okay."

Diane grinned at Colby. "See, CJ? I took good care of him. Didn't I, Dave?"

Colby smiled back at her. "Wanna check the spot just above where your heart is _supposed _to be?" He raised an eyebrow. Diane looked down and sighed deeply. A red dot hovered like a fly on her chest. She looked back at her old partner, a look of comic resignation on her face.

"Ian?"

"Who else?"

"Huh. Guess ducking isn't gonna cut it at this point then, is it? But then, we still have this little, um, potentially _explosive _problem to consider." She jerked her head towards David. "Ya know? Ka-boom? Body parts all over the damn place?"

"Including yours, sweetheart. And I don't want that to happen."

"Well, it's so sweet you still care CJ. Don't suppose you thought to bring along my two exchange students, did you?"

Colby let out a shout of laughter. "Seriously? You really thought that was gonna go down?" He laughed again. "Oh, baby, you're _slippin'_!" He chuckled happily to himself, unable to stop his mocking laughter.

"Um, Col? Kinda thinkin' here, partner. Maybe not that wise to wind the psycho-lady up too much?" David's light-hearted banter barely disguised the panic in his voice. "I think something's ticking over here, man."

Colby flashed a reassuring smile at his partner. "Don't worry, Dave. There ain't no ticking. She doesn't used mechanised timers. She uses dead-man's switches and remote controls. Coward's bombs. Don't ya, babes?" He strolled casually over to the chair that faced David and sat down, ignoring the woman and her gun. He gave his partner a wink, sure that Diane couldn't see him. David frowned at his partner. 'What the _fuck _kinda game are you playing, Col?', David thought to himself. "And as far as hitting the button is concerned, well, Di? I know you better than that." Colby relaxed back into the chair and crossed his arms, his gun still held loosely in his right hand, and stretched out his legs in front of them. "Ya see? Here's the thing, Dave. Our happy little English nut-job over here isn't as crazy as she lets on, are you baby? Huh? All this…this _bullshit _over the past couple of days has just been one long business deal, hasn't it?"

"Oh, _do _go on, CJ! I love it when you get all Agatha Christie on my arse! You know how much it turns me on!" Diane pretended to shudder in delight and laughed merrily.

"Col…"

"Easy, Dave. She's no more gonna hit that detonator button than I am. That's not an escape route, is it Di? So this is just a diversion."

"A pretty fucking _convincing _diversion from where I'm sitting, dude!" David's voice was filled with indignation.

"Relax, Dave."

"Yeah. Relax, Dave." Diane mocked Colby's reassurance. Suddenly, instantly, Diane's demeanour changed. "Believe me, CJ, this is no diversion. That Gucci Special over there is rigged with a remote receiver. I could be two miles away and still set that baby off." She held a small, black box in her left hand, the size of a Zippo lighter. Using her teeth, she pulled a short arial out and held the box up for Colby to see. Her thumb hovered over a small button. " Or press the other button and we've all got thirty seconds to kiss our respective arses goodbye. Then? Ka-boom. Body parts. None of them mine, _sweetheart_. Wanna see how that would pan out?"

"At this point, babe, Ian's safety catch is in the _off _position and you are one heartbeat away from a bullet. You'd be dead before you could press the button...c'_mon, _Di! You _know _that, for Christ's sake! So why all this crap? Huh? C'mon, I give up. I really do." Colby threw his hands in the air. The sudden movement made David flinch. "Ya beat me, okay? Ya beat me! And you wanna know why? Because you were always one step quicker than me, weren't you? I mean, that's what you _want _to hear from me, isn't it? Or perhaps I'm just _sick _and tired of playing your fucking, twisted spook games! You're still on the goddamn payroll, aren't you? Don was right. We were missing something."

"You think too highly of your own importance in all this, mate. And honestly? I'd let Ian know that, oh, sure, he'd get a shot in, but my reflex action would be to press this button. And _then _where would we be?" She grinned. "All _over _the damn place, Col." The grin vanished. "Call your attack dog with the potato gun off, Colby. _RIGHT NOW. _Colby stared hard at the woman, who wiggled the box at him, her thumb hovering over the button. "Now, CJ.I won't ask again." Her voice was flat and utterly cold.

"Ian? Stand down." Colby snarled the order into his mike. The red dot winked out and Diane smiled at him.

"Atta boy."

"You are _really _starting to piss me off, Di."

"Aww, have I pressed your buttons, darling?" She widened her eyes comically and held the box up again. "Pressed your buttons? Geddit? HA!" She laughed heartily. "Oh, man, I crack myself up sometimes, I really do!" The smile and the jovial tone vanished instantly, replaced by that chilling, flat voice again. Her demeanour flipped in an instant. "And you still don't get it, do you sweetie?"

"Oh really? So you wanna _tell _me Di? For once and for all? Because it sure as hell isn't about your brother or any of that crap. Nor is it about fuckin' Kosovo. " Colby sounded for all the world as if he were in the middle of a fight with a girlfriend. Not negotiating with a psychotic, ex-soldier who had a high explosive vest around his partner's chest. Dave couldn't believe it.

"Do you two wanna get a room…or…or _somethin_'? Jesus!"

"You're embarrassing poor David there, CJ…"

"So?"

"What?" Diane shrugged. "What do you want me to say, babes? That it's all been one dumb game? Nope. No game, honeybun. Not from my end, anyways."

"And you mean what, exactly, by that?"

Diane's demeanour suddenly flipped back. But this time there was something different, a crack in her armour, a slight tremor in her voice that told Colby that he was finally breaking through. "I didn't have a choice, CJ. All this? It wasn't my idea. Sure, I played along, after all, what better opportunity to give you the _arse-kicking _you so richly deserve? The opportunity to kill a traitor? A murderer? Tell me, sweetheart, wouldn't _you _jump at the chance of that? And on top of it all, the chance to make enough money so I can drop off the grid for good, without having to worry about looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life?" She stalked towards the seated Colby, sheer menace on her face. "You, my love, have made some bad-assed enemies recently, or didn't you know that? Enemies that would gladly see you face down in a puddle of your own shit and guts! So, they hired me. And I hired Bernard as my wingman, for all the good he did. Useless bastard." She muttered darkly to herself. "And here we are. Shall we take stock of the situation?"

"Oh, I think we're all up on that, Diane."

"Really? Ya think?" She abruptly turned to David. "Tell me Dave, how much do you know about your partner over there? I mean, _really _know?"

"I know enough to trust him."

"Then you're an idiot. You think after the affair with the Chinese that was _it_? That he left the spook academy and became the compliant little FBI puppet?" Her attention flipped back to Colby. "You thought that, yeah? Well, breaking news for you, sport. Colby Granger's paycheck ain't signed by the director of the FBI every month, sweetheart. Is it, CJ?"

"You're talking outta your ass as usual, Di." Colby's voice had an edge to it.

"You catch that, Dave? Huh? That little 'I'm warning you, don't say any more' hint in his voice there? Huh?" Diane laughed. "You're bloody transparent, CJ! Seriously. How did you _not _tell them everything on that boat? Oh, hun, you may be a good interrogator, but you're a shitty spy!" Diane glanced at her watch.

Colby frowned. He didn't speak for a moment. When he finally did, his voice was soft and filled with puzzlement. "You…you're _stalling_, Diane. Why?" He stood up slowly, every movement fluid and filled with coiled tension. "What's so important about the time, Di? Huh? Expecting the cavalry to come through the door any minute?" He brought the gun up and pointed it straight at her. "Had enough of the games, Di. This ends. Now. Put the gun and the detonator down or I swear…"

"You'll what? Shoot me?"

"Yep."

"Not wise…"

"Running out of patience, Di." Colby fired a shot, the floorboards splintering as the shot smashed into the wood a millimetre away from her right foot. "Next one will be in the knee. Then the gut. Then the shoulder. I got a full clip here, Di. Wanna see how many bullets you can take?" There was a silence between them. Colby's gun moved up a fraction, Diane knowing that he was as good as his word. The next bullet to leave his gun would shatter her kneecap in an instant. A slow, malicious smile spread across Colby's face – a smile his partner had never seen before. It chilled David to the bone. "Clock's ticking, Di. Tick, tick, tick…"

Diane wiggled the detonator box. "Forgetting somethin' CJ?"

Colby let out a short laugh. "Fake. All of this. Just like you, sweetheart. All fake. Go on. Press the damn button. I _dare you!"_

"WHOA!" David couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Dude? What the _hell_?" He turned his head and spoke directly to Diane. "Don't listen to him, Diane. I'm beginning to think he's as nuts as you are!"

"Bit of a change from you trust him there, Davy."

"Yeah? Well from where I'm sitting, kinda getting a different perspective on things, lady. And honestly? I'm really not into this poker game, see who blinks first shit that you two spooks are playing."

Diane looked thoughtful for a moment. "Hmm." She glanced again at her watch and nodded, smiling to herself. Ignoring Colby's gun, she moved quietly behind David's chair and looked at her old partner. "Well, CJ, as fun as this has been, I really have to be going now. See, you were right about one thing. This?" She motioned around with her gun. "It was all a teensy-weensy bit of a diversion. Right about now, my two exchange students should be making their way onto a private jet bound for Europe. We needed to, well, _focus _your attention on a spot well away from the main event. So kudos to you, old son, you sussed that bit out nicely." She patted David good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Thanks for playing your part, kiddo." She winked conspiratorially at Colby and grinned. " Oh, one last thing. This vest? Well, in the best Mission Impossible tradition, it will self-destruct in thirty seconds. Be seeing you, darling." She pressed the button.

"NO!"

Without warning, she suddenly dropped out of sight into the open sewer cover that lay unseen behind David's chair. Colby let out a violent expletive and dashed to his partner's side. He stared down the open hole and then glanced back to his partner, his eyes scanning the vest.

In the middle of the jacket an LED display flashed a countdown. 27, 26, 25, 24…

"SHIT!" He shoved the gun back into his holster and ripped his combat knife out of its sheath, slicing through the cable-ties that bound David's wrists. David leapt from the chair, ripping the vest off as he did and hurling it to the ground.

19, 18, 17, 16…

"RUN! FUCKING _RUN!" _Colby shoved his partner hard and the two men pelted for the door. As he ran, Colby bellowed into his transmitter. "EVERYONE BACK! BOMB!"

10, 9, 8, 7…

Colby wrenched the door open and, grabbing David by the scruff of the neck, threw his partner out into the lot at the front of the building.

5, 4, 3, 2…

**TBC…**


	12. Puppetmasters

Disclaimer:

Numb3rs. Not mine. None of it.

Story and Diane Armstrong. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAllllllll MINE!

Crystal?

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**_4, 3, 2, 1…._**

The explosion was huge. Colby and David, running full pelt across the lot at the front of the warehouse were lifted off their feet and hurled forward, their legs still pinwheeling in mid-air. A fireball of flames erupted from the building as the roof disintegrated instantly, shrapnel flying through the air like knives. Colby hit the ground hard, throwing his hands over his head to protect his skull from the debris that rained down around them. There was nothing he could do except lie still and wait to see if he came out of this alive…

David hit the deck hard too. He let out a grunt as the air was pushed out of his lungs from the impact. Instinctively he too threw his hands over his head, offering up a silent prayer to whomever might be listening that a damn great lump of concrete didn't pick the back of his head to land on. The explosion set off every car alarm, every building alarm and every screaming bitch for at least a five-block radius. The cacophony of noise swept across David like a tidal wave. He couldn't think. Debris continued to crash around them. David knew that lying here was asking for a shard of glass straight between the shoulderblades like a dagger. He staggered to his feet, disorientated, the ringing in his ears almost blocking out the other sounds. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Around the edges of the crater where the warehouse used to stand, SWAT crew and FBI agents ran, shouting silently into radios. He could see Don running towards him, blind panic in his eyes. He stood there and just stared at his boss, the stinging sensation in his eyes telling him that blood was running into his eyes. He couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Couldn't move…

Suddenly a strong pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and practically lifted him off his feet. Colby's face was inches from his, covered in grime, dirt and blood, the penetrating green eyes staring into his own, utter panic clearly visible beneath the dirty, bloody mask. Colby's mouth moved – David couldn't hear the words but he could see his own name forming on Colby's lips. The shock of the explosion had rendered his world silent and slowed to a crawl. The high pitched ringing in his ears blinded is mind to anything else. Slowly, achingly slowly, a voice filtered through the muffled world that had wrapped itself around David's existence.

"DAVID! GOD DAMN IT! _SPEAK TO ME!" _Colby dragged his friend and partner further away from the inferno that had engulfed the shell of the building. Fire trucks screamed into the street, adding to the avalanche of noise that suddenly punched its way through David's cocoon.

He felt himself being pushed down, onto the edge of a low wall. Colby crouched in front of him, his hands still clasped firmly, pinning David's arms to his sides. Desperation filled Colby's eyes. David could see the turmoil behind those green orbs. He focused and forced his mouth to work.

"Yeah, yeah, I…I…I'm okay. I'm okay." He grinned suddenly. "Jesus H Christ, I'm OKAY! How the FUCK are we alive?"

Colby released his grip on his partner's shoulders and sat back heavily. He let out a huge sigh of relief and his head dropped forward onto his chest, eyes closed in a silent prayer of thanks. Slowly he lifted his head up and looked at his partner. This time, David could see dreadful remorse in the look. "Jesus Dave, I'm _so _sorry. I…" Colby couldn't finish the sentence. The fact that his partner and _friend _had been placed in such jeopardy because of him filled him with a self-loathing that twisted his guts into knots. His head dropped forward again. Colby shut down. Shock affects people in many different ways…

David leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on his partner's shoulder. "Hey, c'mon, man, if it hadn't have been for you, I'd be sushi right now, dude. C'mon. Hey. Col, _look _at me, man!" Colby slowly looked up. "You think I blame _you _for this shit? Huh? You've been played, man. Played like a fucking puppet. We _all _have. And we're gonna get to the fucking bottom of this and when we do, Col, _when we do_? You and me, brother, we're gonna _bust some mother-fucker's HEAD _for this!" David stood up. "I've been shot at, blown up twice, had a freakin' _nut-job wacko _ex-soldier hold me hostage, my suit is _ruined _and I have had one _HELL _of a bad day!" He held a hand out to his partner. Colby looked up and grasped his friend's hand with his own and let David haul him to his feet. David stared hard at his friend. "Now if you got any ideas about how we go about _finding _these bastards and nailing them once and for all, now would be a _real _good time to share it with me, dude!"

"Yeah. I wouldn't mind getting in on that as well, Col." Don's voice was flat. He was furious. And scared. And utterly, utterly relieved that the two men were okay. "I want to know _exactly _what the hell just happened here, Granger. And I want to know _everything._ No more spook shit. I told you that. And this is how you keep your promise?"

"Hey, c'mon, Don, lay off the guy…" David stepped between the two men, holding a hand up at Don.

"You wanna cover up for your partner, Dave, that's fine. I understand that. But understand _this_. We've just had a major terrorist incident blow up, _literally_, in front of our faces. Granger could have stopped that from happening. I want to know why he didn't, Dave. And why the bitch that did this is still running around _my fucking city_!"

A furious silence flooded in. Colby stared vacantly at his boss. Wordlessly, he turned and slowly walked away. His shoulders were drooped. He looked utterly beaten…

"You walk away from me now, Colby, and you're finished in my team." Don's voice almost cracked as he said the words. Dear god, this was the _last _thing he wanted! But things were too far down the line now. He had to think about the safety of the rest of the team. Jesus, David had been right. Being around Colby Granger was becoming extremely hazardous to your health…

Colby stopped, his back still to Don, waiting, agonising. Don stared at him, silently praying that his agent would turn around. Would walk back. Would stop him from having to make one of the hardest decisions of his life. The decision to turn his own back on Colby and throw him to the wolves. And this time, unlike the Janus affair, there'd be no going back. No second chance. He tried to throw Colby a lifeline. "I don't want that to happen, Col. But you give me no choice. You do this crap to me now, and there's no way I can stop the whole goddamn system coming down on top of you. You _will _go to prison, Col. And I will _not _be able to stop it. Please don't put me in that position, because, ya know? I _really _don't wanna have to live with that for the rest of my life. Now please. For the love of god, Colby. _Please. _Help me make this right."

Time seemed to stop. For what seemed like forever, Colby stood motionless. David knew that this was the moment where he either kept a partner or lost a friend. Don stood next to him, waiting.

Colby slowly turned and looked straight at Don. He looked haunted, broken. Don could see the thin, clean tracks running down Colby's cheeks. Tears rimmed the man's eyes. "I'm not a traitor, Don." The words were almost whispered, but Don heard them clearly enough. He nodded.

"I know." He walked towards Colby and stopped in front of him. "And now we have to convince everyone else, Colby." His voice softened. "So tell me how we fix this." He wanted to comfort the man. But he knew that the only way to break through the shell of despair that surrounded Colby was to appeal to the soldier that still lay in the heart of his agent. A call to action. There would be time for the recovery afterwards…

Colby's expression changed. The broken, frightened man melted away and a quiet, thoughtful one replaced it. He knew what Don had done. Don probably forgot that Colby was a trained interrogator. He had heard all the speeches before. He recognised his own grief for what it was – something that could be dealt with later. He grabbed the lifeline with both hands and held on tight…

"I need to make a phone-call." There was a hard edge to his voice, an edge that told Don that Colby was serious. That phone-call was gonna be a bitch of a call for the recipient. The fear had been replaced by a quiet fury that would get things _done_. Don nodded.

"Make the call. Then get yourself cleaned up. You stay in contact with me at _all _times. I want a full debrief in the next four hours, Colby. A _full _debrief. Do whatever you have to, but make it quick. I have a nasty feeling that this isn't over yet." He turned away and walked back to David. "You stay with him. Do _not _let him out of your site."

"I thought you said you trusted him."

"I do. I don't trust the bastards who are pulling the strings, David. I don't want some son of a bitch taking Colby out before I've had a chance to get to the bottom of this. You're there to protect him, Dave. Keep him alive." Don walked away without another word. David looked at his partner, who merely shrugged.

" Are we good here?"

David nodded. "We're good, man. We're good."

A flicker of a smile crossed Colby's face. "I'm glad." He turned away and pulled his cell-phone from his pocket. Flipping it open, he ignored David and punched in some numbers. Putting the cell-phone to his ear, he turned his back on his friend, shielding the conversation from his partner. David shook his head and laughed quietly to himself.

"God damn spooks…"

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Colby heard the line click. "Clarkson?"

"_Colby! How good to hear from you. You okay? That was one hell of a blast."_

"Yeah. Of course you knew about that, didn't you, you son of a bitch? You've known everything, every fucking move, every step we've made before we made it, didn't you? Why, Clarkson? Huh?"

"_I take it you're pissed at me."_

"Damn, there's no putting one over you, is there, mister sharp? And what the hell gives you the impression that I'm _PISSED _at you, you bastard? You've been playing some stupid, _stupid _game like you always do. And now people are dying. _Again. _Nothing changes, does it?"

"_No. Not true. Things do change, Colby."_

"Aww, will you _cut it out_? This Yoda shit routine? Just, for once in your life, try giving me a straight answer. And yes, I _do _know how ironic that sounds coming from me, yadda yadda. Okay? Did I pre-empt your next smart-ass comment, Clarkson?" Colby's tone of voice suddenly changed. It carried a barely veiled threat with it and Clarkson picked up on it immediately. "You give me everything you've got here or I promise you, Clarkson, I'll blow your _whole goddamn operation _wide open."

"_That would be foolish. You'd go down with us."_

"I'm prepared to take that risk."

"_I don't believe you."_

"Try me!" Colby hissed the words into the mouthpiece of the words. There was a silence as Clarkson wondered if the man was bluffing. He decided that, no. This time he wasn't. And it wouldn't be wise to push him.

"_MacArthur Park. Bandstand. One hour. Alone, Colby."_

"No. David comes with me. Bosses orders."

"_**I'm **__your boss, Colby."_

"No, no you're not. _Special Agent Don Eppes_ is my boss, Clarkson. Are we _clear _on that?" He snapped the phone shut, his fist tightening around the case…

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The light was fading fast as David stopped the car at the entrance to the park. He killed the engine and looked over to his partner. Colby had an old pair of jeans on, a dark bomber jacket and a beanie hat on his head. The white wifebeater he wore under the jacket reminded David of a moment six months earlier, on a train station platform…

"You sure about this, Col?"

"I'm sure."

"We're wide open out there, man. Plenty of sniper spots."

"He's not that dumb. He kills us now, he's got the whole goddamn FBI on top of him. He won't chance an interdepartmental war, Dave. It would be suicide." Colby opened the passenger door and climbed out. He peered back in through the open doorway and at his partner. "You comin'?" The door slammed shut and Colby walked around the front of the Jeep to David's side. He wrenched on the door and held it open, waiting for David to climb out.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" David jumped down and Colby shoved the door closed.

"Stay to my right. Let me do the talking with Clarkson, okay? Keep your eyes up as well as down, Dave." Colby suddenly turned away and began walking briskly towards the bandstand. David followed him, a step behind and, as per instructions, to Colby's right. He couldn't help but notice the quick check Colby gave the gun that nestled in the small of his back. The message was clear. Come out shooting if necessary…

Clarkson was waiting for them as they approached the bandstand. He watched the ex-soldier walk towards him. The gait was still a military one – that sharp swagger that meant the person coming towards you had all the stability of a pissed rhino. He made one wrong move, that pissed rhino would break into a charge and mow him down like a cornstalk. He stood perfectly still. Colby was dangerously out of control. Dear god, the boy even believed that he worked for the FBI! Time to remind him who he _really _worked for…

"Colby."

Colby mounted the steps of the bandstand two at a time and just kept on coming. He grabbed Clarkson by the lapels and shoved him backwards roughly, ramming the man's spine into one of the metal columns that held the roof of the bandstand aloft. Clarkson grunted in pain as he felt his bones jar against the cold iron. He snarled at Clarkson. "I am _not _a happy bunny, Clarkson! Not happy _at all_!"

David sprang up the steps and grabbed his partner's arms. "And this is what you call letting you do all the talkin'? Col, you're throttling the guy. Let him up for air, big fella, c'mon, let him up for air!" He tugged Colby back. He was almost as powerfully built as the ex-soldier, but Colby still had the advantage. Reluctantly, Colby let go of Clarkson, shoving him back one more time as he did. David twisted, putting himself between Colby and Clarkson, facing his partner. He widened his eyes and held a hand up. "Wanna calm it down, Col? Huh?"

"What is this, good cop, bad cop routine?" Clarkson laughed. "Son, I _invented _that. Oh, I don't doubt that Colby's ire is genuine, believe me, I don't. But you have no idea how this particular game is played, David, so butt out, there's a good man." The dark, condescending tone of Clarkson's voice raised David's hackles. He turned and glared at the man.

"I can understand why Colby would take pleasure in killing you, you asshole."

"I think I can sleep nights knowing that, David. Shall we, Colby?" He indicated to the bench and casually sat down. He picked up a buff file that lay next to him and held it up for Colby to see. "Everything we have. As requested." He held the file out. Colby took the file and opened it, studying the contents. Without looking back at the seated man, he spoke.

"From the top, Clarkson. Everything." He glanced up, the look cold. "And if I even suspect you're holding out on me, I'll make sure that David doesn't stop me next time, okay?"

Clarkson glanced at David. The look on David's face told him quite clearly that David agreed with the plan. He swallowed and decided that it was time for the truth…

"The arms deal that you interrupted was a double cross, Colby. Armstrong has been working for us for the last three years, ever since we lifted her out of Kosovo. When you couldn't find her after three months, we had to consider her MIA. That's why we pulled you out of Kosovo and placed you on the Chinese job. Reassignment. When the opportunity came along to place you at a reasonably high level within the FBI, we took it. The rest you know."

"Kosovo?" David turned to his friend.

"Not important now."

"Oh, no, actually, David, it's very important. You see, when we did finally get Diane out of that stinking prison, she told us some very useful information. There's a weapon's pipeline running straight from the former Soviet bloc, through Kosovo and straight to the United States. Diane was trying to seal the LA end of the pipeline when you goons burst through the door."

"What about the two CIA agents?"

"They weren't CIA. Diane had been dangerously compromised by your untimely intervention, so we had to re-establish her cover as quickly as possible. Those two who came to pick her up were Demitri Aranamov's men. He's the LA contact."

David couldn't believe his ears. "And the bombs? All that crap with Armstrong in the warehouse?"

"Armstrong knew that she was being watched. We had to make a gesture to get the confidence of Aranamov back. She _knew _you'd get out alive, Colby. This way they believe her story that she had nothing to do with the FBI investigation, her contact is re-established and we're all back on track to shut this pipeline down."

Colby snapped the folder shut and glared at the man. "All this for a few lousy guns?"

Clarkson didn't reply immediately. When he did, his voice was low. "No, Colby, not for a few lousy guns. We got intel last month that some weapons grade plutonium had gone up for sale and had been bought by a US bidder. That plutonium is in the city now, Colby. And Aranamov was selling it to the highest bidder. It was between us, in the form of Armstrong and Al Q'eda. We knew that if we got the bid, the plutonium would be out of circulation and we could shut Aranamov's operation down once and for all."

"Who won the bid?" There was a long pause before Clarkson answered.

"They did."

The enormity of the two words sank in. An active terrorist cell had managed to get hold of weapon's grade plutonium. Colby reeled. "How much?"

"Not enough to go nuclear. But enough to make a dirty bomb. Estimated collateral damage would be between fifty and eighty thousand. It would make nine eleven look like a birthday party." He paused. "Colby, believe me, Diane still has a real dislike of you. But her dislike of a major terrorist attack is greater. Despite what you think about her, and whether her methods are, um, entirely, well, _legitimate_, she's on our side. She's been in this game for so long, she's turned native. Using their own tactics against them. It's for the greater good, Colby. I think you can see that now."

Clarkson stopped talking and waited. Colby just stared at the man. "When were you going to tell us about this? Huh? When there was a freakin' mushroom cloud hanging over downtown LA? What, you didn't think we'd be able to _help_?"

"Colby, you know the drill. She's in the wind. We couldn't risk her by telling the FBI or anyone else for that matter. Now?" He shrugged. "Well, after considering all the options, Diane and I agree. Maybe you _can _help."

"So you've spoken to her?"

"Of course. This whole incident was exactly what you said, Col. A diversion. We had to make Aranamov think that we'd capitulated on his two brothers. By keeping his attention here, we could get them out of circulation. They're currently acquiring a taste for orange jump-suits in Cuba. Aranamov thinks they're en route to Kosovo. We've got twenty-four hours before he finds out the truth and comes after Diane again. That means we've got twenty four hours before he gives his Al Q'eda contacts the go ahead for the bomb. He'll hold off until he's certain, one way or the other. You can be sure they have it already in place. The clock's ticking, Colby. Tick, tick, tick…"

Clarkson stood up and adjusted his coat. "I'll be in touch if we get anything else. In the meantime, give Diane Armstrong a free reign, Colby. Cover her back. And if your mathematician friend can work out a way of narrowing down our search pattern for that bomb, it would be much appreciated." He walked quickly down the steps and away from the bandstand, leaving David and Colby staring after him.

"Shit." David swore quietly to himself.

Colby didn't utter a word…

**_TBC…_**


	13. By Any Means Necessary

Disclaimer.

Oh, blah, blah, blah, don't own anything to do with Numb3rs, blah, blah, blah, own story and blah blah Diane Armstrong, blah blah.

Fill the blahs in as you want…G'on, it's a fun game for the whole family! Dirtiest ones emailed to me wins a prize…

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Colby flipped his phone open and punched a speed-dial number. David sat in the driver's seat, numb. He was driving on autopilot. All he could think about was the doomsday scenario that faced them in a matter of hours if they couldn't stop it. Nukes had lost their "terror appeal" after nine eleven. A new kind of fear had enraptured the American public. Biological warfare. In the panic over sarin gas, Anthrax and other silent, deadly enemies, people had kind of forgotten just how utterly terrifying a nuclear explosion could be. It had been a long time since Chernobyl. People had pushed the seeping cancer of a nuclear disaster into dark cupboards in their minds. A spectre lurking in the shadows.

Until now.

Right now, right at this very moment, David was more scared than he had ever been in his life. Flashbacks from all the films he'd seen as a kid that showed that magnificent and utterly terrifyingly beautiful mushroom cloud rising above a blasted vacuum where houses and people once stood, all in glorious Technicolor in his mind. The tattered copy of "Protect and Survive" that had lain on his mother's cabinet shelf for years, gathering dust, the older generation still to frightened by the thought of a nuclear war to tempt fate by opening its crackling pages. _That _was the reality of the situation. Thousands of people dead and dying. All in the name of...what? Of freedom? Of God? There was _nothing _that could justify this... David took a left-hand corner on two wheels and spun the steering wheel back around, fishtailing the back end of the Jeep. Colby, for once, didn't comment on David's driving. He knew how serious this was.

"Megan? It's Colby. I need you to get to the office right away. I'm on my way to Don's to pick up Charlie. We'll be with you in twenty minutes."

"_Colby, what's going on?"_

"I'm sorry Meg, I can't tell you that over the phone. Twenty minutes." Colby snapped the phone shut and shoved it into his pocket. The two men drove on wordlessly…

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Don stared at the wall, studying the pictures. He knew that large pieces of the jigsaw were missing, and the only one who could fill in the gaps this time was Colby. Don zoned out for a moment, a nagging memory randomly surfacing. The discussion with his shrink, the day Colby, Megan and David took the lead on a kidnapping case. The shrink had asked him about his team, and one at a time, they'd discussed the strengths and weaknesses of each of them. "So you're worried Colby might have seen too much?" the shrink had asked him. Maybe he had. Maybe he had reached the point where he could no longer distinguish any kind of clear line between the two lives that he had been leading for so long. Colby was a spy. First and foremost. It didn't matter how hard he tried _not _to be, that's what he was. David rubbed his eyes.

Spying went against all that he believed in. It was his job to uncover the truth about any situation. Now he had a member on his team whose sole purpose was seemingly to cover _up _the truth. Who used lies and deception as part of his everyday weaponry. Who had deceived his friends and colleagues for three years. Don knew full well that Colby's mission had been to uncover traitors at the very highest level, and the man was damn good at it. Christ, he'd even been given a commendation for it! There was no doubt in Don's mind that Colby did what he did for the greater good. For the good of his country. By any means necessary.

But did the ends _always _justify the means?

David was snapped out of his moral dilemma by the sound of the door opening quietly. Colby stood there, hesitant. He looked straight at his boss. "Tryin' to figure out where I fit in to all of this, Don?" Colby asked quietly and closed the door. "Or maybe whose side I'm on, huh?"

"What are you, Col? Psychic?"

Colby chuckled. "Well, at least you're honest about it, boss." Colby sat down on the edge of the table. Tucked under one arm was the buff file that Clarkson had given to him. He held it out. Don took the file wordlessly, a quizzical look on his face. He started to flick through the pages, aware that Colby was watching his every move. He glanced up.

"What the hell is this, Col?"

"Our worst nightmare." Colby stood up. "I think the rest of the team should be in here for this, Don. We need everyone in on this." He opened the door and beckoned to David, Megan and Charlie. The three filed into the room, silently taking seats, waiting for some kind of explanation. Don's curiosity peaked again as he saw David's expression. He looked deeply concerned. Whatever Colby's briefing contained, Dave already knew. Don felt a small knot tighten in the pit of his stomach…

Twenty minutes later, the room sat in stunned silence, the full enormity of the knowledge that there was a dirty bomb somewhere in LA hitting the team hard. The briefing Colby had given them had made Don sick to his stomach. He sat back on the desk and gripped the edge with both hands tightly, his knuckles whitening. When he finally spoke, his voice was filled with pent up rage. "You mean to tell me that all this has been _bullshit_?" Don exploded. "That there's a goddamn nuclear bomb in LA and your dumb-assed bosses, Colby, you're _stupid, dumb-assed _bosses were keeping us out of the loop?"

"Don, take it easy will you? Colby didn't know about this until an hour ago…"

"You can sack me later, Don. Right now, we've got a nuke to find." Colby's voice cut through sharply. He turned to Charlie. "Charlie, can any of this data help you to try and pinpoint where the bomb could be planted?"

Charlie walked up to the screen and peered closely at the data displayed there. "Yes, definitely. I've got enough to work with here. I can set up a probability algorithm, calculate the estimated number of casualties our terrorists are aiming for…" He turned and looked at Colby. "Your contact said an estimate of between fifty to eighty thousand?"

"Yes."

"OK, so we know how much plutonium has gone missing and can calculate realistic initial casualties using a set baseline number, including dispersal patterns, length of exposure and immediate blast radius, right?"

"If you say so."

Charlie spun around and marched back to the table, flipping the lid of the laptop open. "OK. Give me an hour and I'll have a shortlist of potential targets for you. Once we have that narrowed down, we can start to sweep."

"I'll get on to the bomb disposal team." Meg looked to Colby, who nodded curtly.

"Give them the information on the plutonium. They'll be able to narrow down what kind of detonators it'll take, and perhaps even a bit more data on bomb logistics to give Charlie." Colby turned to David. "Can you go back over the files of the original crew we picked up? See if there's any common denominators like locations, that kinda thing?" He flashed a brief smile at his partner. "I think one of our Russian friends may have connections in the Middle East, ya know?" David returned the brief smile and silently left the room.

Just Don remained. He watched his junior agent take complete control of his team. Resentment swelled up inside him. He was the boss of this team, for Christ's sake! A flash of spite surfaced. "Happy now you got control, Granger?"

Colby spun around and faced him, sheer irritation on his face. "Okay, _look, _Don! I do _not _have time to stand here and apologise yet _again_, to you! I'm _done _sayin' sorry for doing my job, are we clear? I'm _done _trying to pretend to be something I'm not! But I am _not _done trying to stop the worst terrorist attack in American fucking _history, Don!" _He moved quickly and before Don could react, Colby was in his face, their noses almost touching. "So let's try this for size, shall we? I am not trying to take over your team. This is bigger than you, me, _any _of us. Which means we have to use whatever means necessary to get the job done! Once this is all over, I'll save you the trouble and just hand you my badge and gun and walk out of here. No questions asked, nothin'. But that's _after _we make this _right, _Don. You asked me how I could make it right. Well, this is how. And if you don't like it…" He paused, sighed gently and took a step back. "If you don't like it, Don, then I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do to change that. It's the only way I know how." He turned away and sat down heavily on the edge of a desk. His head dropped for a moment as he ran his clenched fingers through his hair. He looked back up, straight at his boss. "Don, please. You gotta help me on this one. I can't stop this on my own."

Don realised that every word Colby had spoken was the absolute truth. The time for petty, ego-driven squabbles over trust was finished. He moved across the room and sat next to Colby. Crossing his arms, he spoke quietly. "Tell me about Diane, Colby."

"It's classified."

"No, it's not. If we're now supposed to be helping this crazy bitch, I need to have a damn good reason as to why. She's blown up half the downtown docks area, kidnapped a federal agent, shot at you god knows _how _many times, killed innocent bystanders with the restaurant bomb…"

"That wasn't her."

"What?"

"Don, that's the kind of sickos we're dealing with. The restaurant bomb was set by the Russians. She was there to try and stop me and David from going in."

"But she still hates your guts?"

"Oh, _hell_, yes!"

"But she needs you alive?"

"I told you, Don. Whatever it takes to get the job done. This isn't personal. It's business." Colby stood up. "Once she's taken care of business, well, _that's _when the target on my back starts to glow in the goddamn dark, man!" He let out a short, mirthless laugh. "And I'll worry about that later." He turned and walked towards the door. "I'll call in in about an hour."

"Where the hell are you going, Col?"

Colby paused and turned. "To see an old friend." He smiled and walked out of the room…

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Diane Armstrong had crawled out of the sewer and into the street that ran a block away from the blast zone. She moved silently, sticking to the shadows. Raising a pair of night goggles up, she saw Colby drag the dazed and confused David to the safety of the low wall, yelling at his friend to talk to him. She lowered the goggles and smiled, relieved. "Thank fuck for that." She glanced again at her watch and slipped into the darkness…

Three hours later, she arrived at the house in a quiet district of Huntington. Reversing the Jeep quickly up the drive, she killed the engine and slipped out of the car silently. Skirting the shadows, she went around to the back and let herself in without a sound. As she softly closed the kitchen door, a table lamp clicked on.

"Hey."

Diane turned casually and smiled at the man sitting in the chair. "Hey yourself. You got out alright then." She began to walk towards the man.

"Baby, I swear, if you ever pull anything like that again…" He stood up and met her. Colby gazed deep into Diane's green eyes and smiled gently.

"You'll what?"

Colby kissed her passionately. Diane returned the kiss, winding her arms around Colby's neck and shoulders, pulling him closer. Finally, they broke the kiss and she grinned at him. "Fuck me, CJ, you should get a freakin' _Oscar _for that performance tonight!"

"We had to be certain, babe. If Aramanov's men were watching and listening, we had to make it convincing. This way you're still trusted by them and they won't have a clue that the FBI are on their case. They'll be thinking that we're still looking for you. If things go wrong now, then we'll know for certain."

"That Clarkson's the leak?"

"That he's the leak, yes. He still thinks that your brother's death is a motivating factor in all this. That you're still after me. He's relying on you to take me out, tie up _loose ends_, as it were."

Diane broke the embrace and moved over to the counter. "Damn it all, CJ! Four fucking years this has taken us!"

Colby moved behind her and wound his arms around her waist. He kissed her gently on the neck. "I know, baby. I know. But it's almost over."

She turned and faced him, her expression serious. "And then what, love? Then what?"

Colby looked at her sadly. "Then?" He sighed. "I don't know, baby."

"You know that things can't ever be the same again. That you can't go back to your old life as Colby Granger, FBI agent. That it's all finished."

"That's up to Don."

"No babe, it's not. Don'll get orders, same as we do. There's always someone higher up the food chain. Only...maybe..." she looked thoughtful. "Maybe, _this_ time we can influence how those orders come through."

"That's not how Don works."

"Precisely. Which is why his team is the only one we trust to get this job done. Look, Colby. Don has a reputation for solving cases that other agencies, hell, even _our _lot would struggle with. If we can show him that having a spook in his team works to his advantage as well as ours, then maybe…"

"You really don't get Don, do you?" Colby rubbed his eyes. Damn, had he ever been this tired? "Trust is important to him. No, scratch that, it's _vital_. If he doesn't trust me, I'm not in the team. He's told me as much. Doesn't matter how much it would help the bigger picture."

"That was his emotions talking, sweetheart. He's far more pragmatic than you give him credit for. Christ, he brought his own _brother _into the team, didn't he? A math professor? So why not keep you? Hell, CJ, even if it's the old, keep your friends close and your enemies closer routine, even that would work, wouldn't it?"

"It's different…"

"It's _not_! Colby, look. If staying with the FBI is what you _really _want to do, then maybe we can arrange that. And…think about it. It worked for us before, until you got double-crossed. This way, if I'm your handler, you can be sure there'll be no double crosses. Maybe it'll work to our advantage. I mean, c'mon! It's about time we had a bit of departmental co-operation around here!"

"And what about you?" Colby looked at her and put his hand around her waist, pulling her towards him. "What about you, Diane? What happens to us?"

"Colby, you knew it would always be like this! There's a damn good reason that spooks dating each other is frowned upon. We're each other's weakness like this, love! Same as it was in Kosovo."

"You shot me in Kosovo!"

"I saved your life. _And _mine. If I hadn't shot you, they would have figured out we cared about each other. They would've used that against us. And we would've talked, Colby. You know we would've. We wouldn't have been able to stop ourselves. Don't you _see _that?"

"Of course I do. I know. Doesn't make it any easier."

"Nobody said it would be easy, babe." She kissed him again, slowly, passionately. "I, um...I take it that this isn't going in your next debrief to Don?" She smiled. Colby mirrored her smile and their lips brushed again.

"It's classified…" he breathed…

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Demitri Aramanov snapped his phone shut. "The woman has done it. My brothers are on their way home." He smiled at the huge man that stood in the corner of the room. "Tell our Arab friends that their time has come. We will arrange transfer of the goods tomorrow morning at six am. And then, my friend?" He smiled lazily. "I suggest, as the Americans like to say, we get the _hell_ out of Dodge…"

The man returned the nasty smile and chuckled deeply…

_**TBC……**_


	14. Never More Alive Part One

Never More Alive Part One

Disclaimer.

Look.

I'm running out of ideas for witty disclaimers, okay? You know how hard it is to come up with one time, after time, after time, after…(Rant continues)

AAAAAAAAAAAAnyhoo, just for the court records, I do not own anything to do with Numb3rs. Merely a fan of the Scott brothers and all their awesomeness.

I do, however, own the story and the character of Diane Armstrong. And I'll arm-wrestle anyone who says different into submission. _INCLUDING _the Scott family, their friends, agents, bottom-feeders (also known as lawyers) and any of the cast who want in on some shoulder porn…

_**Author's note:**_

_**Well, kiddos, this chapter turned into a bit of a monster, so I'm breaking it down into two parts. Apologies to all, especially AJ, as I know my cliffies drive her nuts… Part two of this chapter will follow shortly.**_

_**Kes**_

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The Jeep pulled over to the side of the road. Colby let the truck roll forward until it was out of the direct, amber glare of the streetlamp. The tree that stood next to the light gave rich, thick shadows, ideal urban camouflage for the black body of the Jeep. Colby utilised this cover perfectly, his deep-routed evade and observe, counter-intelligence training kicking in instinctively. He was right back where he'd started, despite trying for months to break away from the murky world of covert ops. Right back where, if he was finally honest with himself, he'd been all along.

Colby Granger.

Spy.

He was damn good at it, too. But next to him sat his partner of seven years. And she was easily as good as he was. If their relationship outside of business hours _had _been known about by their bosses, then they made no attempt to put a stop to it. Probably because of the simple fact that they were far more pragmatic than perhaps Colby or Diane gave them credit for. Their relationship was overlooked because the brass knew just how formidable a team they were. Alone they were good. Together? They were damn near unstoppable. It made sense to allow them a little 'down time' together, if it meant that the job got done.

Theirs was a strange relationship. Passionate in the extreme, yet with months, even years between encounters. They'd decided on that course at the very beginning. They both knew the job came first, and in this game, forming deep attachments for a partner could only result in a great deal of pain, knowing that the person you loved was constantly in dangerous situations of the most extreme kind. Knowing that they could be dead, and you wouldn't even find out for months, maybe even years. That is why when they _did _cross paths, the passion flared brighter than ever. And then, as quickly as it flared, it was gone as they went their separate ways. A strange, disjointed relationship that only strengthened their bond every time it was renewed. It made it harder each time to say goodbye again, but Colby knew that the inevitable would happen and, that at the end of this and _if _they both survived, they'd go their separate ways.

Until the next time…

Colby still felt deeply troubled by the colossal lies that he had had to tell his friends and colleagues to keep this relationship so secret. It was one of the penalties for such a clandestine love affair with a fellow spy. The very nature of their work made it impossible for him to disclose just how deep the relationship went. At the moment, all they knew was that she was actually working for their side, just at a, well, _slightly different angle._ They didn't know that Colby himself was working at the exact same angle as Diane. Never quite one of them. Never quite looking at the same picture as them. A random unknown variable, Charlie would probably classify him as. It still couldn't rectify the feeling of betrayal Colby felt he had offered his friends. He had told them he hardly knew Diane. It was a lie. He told them that he knew nothing about the terrifying plan of bluff and counter bluff Diane had engaged them in, risking their lives on several occasions. Another lie. He had hidden from them the fact that, far from not knowing anything about it, this was an operation that had been carrying on for seven long years. That had started in Kosovo in a filthy back alley of Pristina, the capital city that had been shattered into a thousand jagged pieces after years of civil war with their capture by the secret police. That Colby had been tortured not just the once, by the Chinese, but twice. And the first time had lasted months, not hours. How could he begin to explain it?

Most of all, he felt a black pit of remorse for the danger he had put his friend and partner into. David had been completely hoodwinked. Colby knew that Diane had carefully factored into every equation a get-out clause, not just for herself but for Colby and David too. David had been an unwilling puppet in a game designed specifically to maintain Diane and Colby's cover. It wasn't something Colby thought David would take to well to. Colby sighed inwardly. It wouldn't have been the first time he had lost a friend in such circumstances. Colby knew he had enemies. Real, _nasty _enemies. But he sincerely wished that he could have avoided including David, and, to a lesser extent Don, into that equation. Loosing them as friends stung. Sharply. Perhaps it was time to get out of the game once and for all. Maybe it was starting to get a little bit _too _personal. Colby knew that when that happened, you started to lose your edge. And that meant you'd die pretty damn quickly…

Colby had never felt more dead inside than he did at this precise moment…

The club was typical, downtown sleaze. Burly doormen, their muscles straining the fabric of the cheap suits they wore, stood scowling darkly at passers by. Not exactly the most welcoming of façades, unless you were in the know. Or moved in the right, dark circles. Every so often, one of the goons would growl into a radio to a comrade inside, lurking deep within the labyrinth of back rooms that lay hidden behind the main bar. Diane scanned the club with night-vision goggles, peering deep into the alleyways at the side and the roof. "Two up front. Two more in the entrance, all armed. Sniper, rooftop, west corner. Two patrolling the east alley. I'm gonna take a wild, stab in the dark and guess that there's two around the back as well. Call it a hunch." She grinned. "It's almost like they _want _us to sneak right on in there!"

"English sarcasm?"

"Ya _think_?" She frowned. "Okay. C'mon then, smart-arse. What's our in, CJ?"

Colby leaned across her and looked out of the side window, grinning. "Bet ya a dollar nobody's watchin' out for gofers, babes…" He nodded towards the black metal drain cover that glistened damply in the streetlight. She grinned broadly back at him.

"You _sneaky little bugger_!" Diane laughed. "Pristina?"

"Well, it worked that time, why not?" Colby shrugged and grinned again. "It's an ancient battle strategy. Babes. Sapping. The soldiers would usually spend so much damn time defending the castle walls in old battles…"

"…That they forgot to keep an eye on the drains!" Diane finished the sentence. "Send a couple of sneaky sons of bitches, that'll be us, by the way, through the tunnel at night, creepy, creepy up the tunnel, plant a couple of barrels of gunpowder and…"

"…And boom! Down comes the whole damn wall. Exactly. Only this time, we're planting bugs, not bombs."

"I want to avoid engagement at all costs, CJ. This isn't over yet. We need to stay under their radar for just a little while longer."

"Agreed." Colby took the night-goggles from Diane's hand and scanned the building. "No rotation."

Diane spoke as she flipped open a laptop and started to tap rapidly at the keys. "No, outside guards don't. Inside is a different matter."

"How do you know all this?"

Diane looked up and shrugged. "Aranamov trusts me. Thinks I'm one of the top international arms dealers in LA. Us Brits are rather good at selling guns to people. One of our biggest exports. And I'd like to keep it that way until we've got that nuke in our hands and disarmed. Then?" She scowled darkly. "_Then, _I'm gonna kick the living crap out of the vodka swilling, bastard until he begs me to stop." She fixed Colby with a dark stare. "You do realise that I won't stop, don't you?"

The flippant comment was loaded with a deeper, much more agonising meaning. Diane had a very personal score to settle with Aranamov. His orders had led to hers and Colby's torture five years ago. They'd maintained their cover for two, whole years, gathering vital counter-intelligence information. But a deal with someone very, _very _high up in the Agency had given Aranamov a direct line to their location. He had ordered the secret police, who were in his pay, to capture and detain the two agents, and to work on them until they had squeezed every last bit of information out of them. By any means necessary. It had been a long, terrifying ordeal; months of pain and fear, sometimes praying that their tormentors would grow tired of the torture and offer them both a permanent way out with a bullet to the head. But it had been worse for Diane. She was a woman. A powerfully attractive one. Colby knew that her captors had violated her in ways he couldn't even begin to comprehend. It enraged him to think of what they had done, and he had taken matters into his own hands a year later, once he and Diane had been 'exchanged' by various governments. He'd hunted every last one of the bastards down and shot them in cold blood. But the man who had given the order for her debasement? No. Colby left him alive. He had saved that one for her to finish…

Aranamov had never seen the two agents in Kosovo. He had no idea that the woman he knew as Christine Dixon was, in fact, Diane Armstrong. She'd wriggled her way into his confidence slowly and carefully, her legend carefully constructed by contacts she _did _trust in the Agency.

They had always suspected who the leak was. But they needed proof. Hard, cold evidence of a direct link to the very top level of the CIA. Evidence of the co-operation between a known terrorist organisation and a top level member of the security services. It would blow the whole damn system wide open if that leaked out into public knowledge. The leak had to be stopped carefully and out of sight of the rest of the world. The political and civil unrest it could cause could lead to all-out war. The explosion of a dirty bomb in the middle of one of the most densely populated cities in the country wasn't just an act of savagery, it was an act of war. But the thought that it had been not only known about but _sanctioned _by homeland security was unthinkable. It would cause a complete collapse of the entire security operation, both at home and abroad. Stopping the bomb was vital. Stopping the leak was imperative.

Diane had gone back to the laptop whilst Colby watched the movement of the guards. "We're in luck." Her words caught Colby's attention and he focused on the screen. It showed a blueprint of the water supply system that criss-crossed this part of the city. Diane had tapped in their GPS co-ordinates and the diagram zoomed in on a specific section. "Main access pipe runs directly underneath the club. There's another manhole cover in that alley behind us." She pointed briefly to an alleyway that ran directly behind the back of the parked Jeep. "Plenty of cover to the entry point, an ideal in. Once down there, we've got about five hundred meters before we reach a third access point. That, and seriously, I don't believe our luck here, CJ..._that _sweet little bugger comes up in a storage room, two rooms down from Aranamov's main office." She grinned. "Gofer's paradise, mate!" She snapped the laptop shut. "Aranamov's goons shut up shop at zero three hundred. By zero four, they're usually pissed out of their tiny skulls in one of the card rooms on the north back wall. Except the guards. Believe me, those buggers stay stone, cold, sober as a judge. They _have _to. Otherwise the bastard shoots 'em. Quite a firm hand when it comes to discipline, our mate in there." She shrugged. "Standard procedure."

"How many?"

"Four, two rotating teams of two. Last time I was in there? Every seven minutes. Mid point overlap."

"Okay, so that gives us three and a half minutes to get in, do some gardening and get out again. No engagement." Colby paused, aware that Diane was staring at him, an amused expression on her face.

Do some gardening. It was a distinctly British slang term for planting surveillance devices in difficult situations. She grinned at her partner.

"_What?" _Colby gave her an indignant look.

"Doin' some gardenin'? Colby Granger, I'll make a Brit outta you yet!" She laughed.

"No thanks babes, I like my all-American dental plan too much for that!" He flashed a grin at her.

"You know, those 'all Brits have bad teeth' jokes are getting a bit old, CJ…"

"Shall we do this?"

Her face suddenly became absolutely serious. All trace of the lighthearted banter had gone. "I think we should, don't you?"

Without another word, they got ready…

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Charlie stared at the seemingly unfathomable jumble of numbers and symbols on the board, tapping his chin with the end of his pen. His mouth hung slightly open as his brain calculated the tangled pathways through the equation that led to the answer. Megan tapped quickly at a computer and hit the print button, standing up in one fluid motion and pulling the sheet from the printer. At that precise moment, Charlie found the right route. "Of course!" He spun around to face Meg and together they said, "I've got it!"

"You first Meg."

"The estimated number of casualties was between fifty and eighty thousand, right?" Charlie nodded. "There's only a couple of places that will have a high density of people concentrated into a small area within the next twenty four hours."

David glanced up from his desk. "The Laker's game. It's the damn play-offs this weekend!"

"My dispersal algorithm would agree with that." Charlie nodded again in agreement. "The only thing is that the Staples Center only seats around nineteen thousand for a basketball match. That's way down on our figure of eighty thousand. So if we're only looking at a quarter of the original estimates, and I've confirmed that higher figure with Professor Wolf…"

"Wait, who?"

"Professor Wolf. Harry Wolf. He's the NSA's ballistics and explosives expert. So, like I said, if we're looking at a quarter of the numbers…"

"Then there's a lot less plutonium in play than we first thought. Maybe they've decided to go for a smaller casualty rate." David nodded. "Okay, but that still doesn't give us any indication as to exactly where this bomb is gonna get planted. Only that we're looking for a smaller device."

"No, not necessarily. Look." David turned to the board and started scribbling frantically. "If you take into account particulate dispersal patterns, and factor in possible environmental factors, such as the height of the outer structure, distance to the roof, dimensions of the arena itself…"

"Hey, hang on..." David frowned. "There is another venue that holds that kind of numbers, Dodger stadium." He turned to his computer and started to type rapidly. After a few seconds, he sat back, a horrified look on his face. He turned to his colleagues. "I think we just found our target. There's a rally at the Dodger stadium this weekend. A support the troops rally."

"We've already got that on our watch list, David. That stadium has been swept thoroughly." Meg sat down again, studying the screen of her computer.

"But the bomb isn't in play yet. And until a few hours ago, we had no idea that we were looking for a nuke."

"I'll get onto the bomb squad. Get them to sweep it again." Meg picked up the phone and dialled.

Charlie carried on. "Okay, so we go back to the original calculations, the algorithms are still applicable. For the bomb to have maximum effect, they would need to maximise the blast radius in a three sixty area. If it were planted at one end, for example, that would directly impede the effectiveness. The bomb has to be central, right in the middle of the stadium." Charlie stepped back and stared at the board.

"Charlie, I think that people would notice a damn nuke sitting in the middle of a stadium, don't you?" Meg raised an eyebrow.

"Who said it has to be above ground?"

Megan snapped her fingers. "Of course. There's a complete other world underneath that pitch."

"So that's our most likely position for the bomb."

"Hold off on that phonecall, Meg." Don walked into the office and up to Meg's desk. He pressed the connection on the phone down, cutting her off in mid-call."

"Why?"

"Because I've just had a briefing from our friends at the CIA. Colby and his…_friend_ are in the middle of something. If we hit the stadium now, we'll scare the bombers back underground and quite possibly blow Colby's operation wide open. Apparently, we have to let them plant the damn thing, draw them out into the open. And no," he held a hand up. "I don't like it any more than you do, but that's the way things are. At least we have a fix on where it's likely to be. Once we get the nod from spook central, we move in."

Meg sensed a barely controlled anger in Don's voice. He hated this. Being told when to move by a higher power. Being out of control of the situation. Having to rely on Colby and the others to get the job done. Perhaps his shrink had been right. He had to learn to let his team shine in their own ways…

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The two figures slipped silently from the Jeep, quickly hoisting backpacks onto their shoulders. Colby scuttled, crab-like, towards the drain cover that sat just in the entrance to the alleyway. Clipping the metal grab to the handle, he heaved the cover clear, hardly making a sound. Diane dropped through the hole like a shadow, a faint splash telling Colby she'd landed on her feet, as usual. The black fatigues they both wore made them almost impossible to distinguish in the thick, black shadows that clustered around the alleyway entrance. Colby followed his partner into the tunnel, pulling the cover back into position as he climbed down the short metal ladder. For a second, they were plunged into darkness, bent double in the main access tunnel. Diane clicked her mag-lite on and pointed into the pitch black of the labyrinth that stretched out in front of them. From here on in, it was silent running. Hand signals only. The object was to avoid any engagement with Aranamov's men at all costs. They had to get in and out, unseen, undetected. What was commonly referred to as a ghost op. It was purely a surveillance operation. Just like Kosovo. Only this time, it was imperative that they didn't get caught. Eighty thousand potential victims were counting on them to do their job right…

Colby clicked on his own light and the two black-clothed figures moved silently through the tunnel, the rumble of traffic on the road above offering up muffled background noise that covered any tiny sound they made as they moved. A rat scuttled past them in the opposite direction, pausing briefly to sniff the air as the two figures moved past him. Colby glared at the rat. He hated the damn things…

Diane scanned the roof of the tunnel. It had opened up, finally allowing them to stand up straight, easing tense muscles back into place. Diane pressed her hand against the small of her back, stretching briefly before carrying on further into the tunnel. Suddenly, she stopped, her fist raised. Colby froze. Diane pointed up. The cover nestled into the roof, there was no ladder. This was their access point. Colby glanced at his watch. Zero three fifteen. He looked at Diane who merely shrugged and, crouching down, she lifted the backpack off her shoulders and sat calmly, her back pressed against the side of the tunnel. All they could do now was wait, silently, in the dark…

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The club was finally in darkness. Aranamov and his men had retired to one of the back lounges that were kept for 'private' parties. This time tomorrow, they would have a few more million in the bank, his brothers would be home and he could walk away from one of the worst terrorist atrocities in modern times without a single link to his name. Then, once the new order had been restored in the city, he would come in and take over every single gang territory in the city, effectively controlling the supply of every type of drug, gun and grubby piece of porn that filtered down onto the streets. That was the deal. It was a sweet one too. Within chaos, he would bring his own, unique kind of order.

Two teams of guards patrolled the club, following Aranamov's orders to the letter. He may have been king of his own little realm, but trust was something that was in very short supply in Aranamov's world. Every enquiry he had made about the Englishwoman had hit a dead end. She'd held up her end of the deal, god knows how, but she had. Hopefully she was now somewhere very, _very _far away, the FBI had been made to look like fools on their very own doorstep and the vodka was flowing freely. Aranamov had absolutely no idea that beneath his feet, the woman he hoped was far away was only a couple of meters below him, waiting…

In the tunnel, Diane glanced at her watch. Zero four hundred. She touched Colby's arm gently and his green eyes snapped open instantly. Diane gave him the okay sign and they stood up, stretching their cramped muscles. Pulling black balaclavas and gloves on, only their eyes were now visible, cold, hard and utterly professional.

Colby cupped his hands, bracing his weight evenly and bending his knees slightly. Diane placed her foot in his hands and effortlessly, he propelled her up towards the cover. She grabbed it and lifted, their movement perfectly co-ordinated. The cover slid clear silently and Diane pushed it to the side of the entrance hole, grabbing the side with her free hand. Colby held her steady, supporting her calf muscle with one hand. Diane pulled herself up into the room, rolling and flipping back, staying close to the floor. Her head appeared back into the exposed hole and she held a hand down. Colby handed her the backpacks and then took a few steps back. Running forward, he timed his jump expertly, throwing his hand up and gripping the side of the hole. Diane wrapped a vice-like grip around his other wrist and pulled hard. With her help, Colby flipped silently into the room, rolling and coming up into a crouch, staying beneath the level of the frosted glass windows that lined the corridor side of the room.

They both froze, hidden by the deep shadows of the darkened room, listening intently for the footsteps of the guards as they patrolled the building. Colby gave Diane a flurry of hand signals. Two guards. Approaching from the left. Diane gave the okay and silently moved to the door. Colby could hear the rushing of his blood in his ears as the adrenaline kicked in. He concentrated on his breathing, calming himself, forcing himself to relax…

The muffled conversation of the two guards passed by the door, inches from the statue-still figures of the two agents, separated only by a thin piece of wood and glass. The Russian sounded strangely familiar. Colby forced the flashback of the Kosovo operation to the back of his mind. This was no time for reminiscing… The conversation died away and Colby and Diane locked eyes. He was damn sure she was grinning at him under the balaclava. The crazy bitch loved this kind of thing. He couldn't help himself. He grinned back, knowing she couldn't see it, but that she sensed it nevertheless. Time to go to work. Raising his hand, he counted down

Three, two, one…

**_TBC…_**


	15. Never More Alive Part Two

Never More Alive Part Two

Disclaimer.

Oh, fortheloveofGOD, can't you just read back over my other disclaimers?

No?

(Sigh) Okay. I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. I do own the story and Diane Armstrong. I also own several motorbikes, a lot of books, a big collection of Prog Rock CDs, a two-foot high wooden cow called Phyllis and a complete socket wrench set. But you don't hear me going on about _that_, do you?

Aaaaaaanyhoo… On with the story…

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Colby gave the go sign and silently they slipped out of the room and down the corridor to the office. Colby kept lookout while Diane expertly picked the lock. Within seconds, they were in the room, Diane closing the door behind them with the faintest of soft clicks. Aranamov's security depended on muscle power, not movement sensors. Colby was quietly thankful for the man's lax approach to personal security.

They went to work. Diane located an air vent and, removing the cover quickly, installed a tiny camera in the cavity behind the grill and a three-sixty receiver giving them full audio surveillance as well as visual. The camera unit was fitted with infrared as well as daylight sensitivity. They'd be able to see clearly everything that went on in that office.

Colby fitted a wafer-thin, tiny bug into the telephone and then his eye caught sight of the safe. He smiled quietly to himself and dropped down next to the safe door. Electronic locking system. Five digit code. Colby smiled again. For such an evil son of a bitch, Aranamov didn't have a damn clue about security…Colby pulled out a small box from his backpack, two sensors hanging loosely on the sides. He attached the sensors on either side of the lock and pressed a button. The LED numbers flickered on the display screen, eventually settling into a five-digit number. Colby disconnected the sensors and punched the numbers into the keypad. The safe door opened with a slight click, immediately drawing Diane's momentary attention. She nodded and went back to her work. Colby turned his attention back to the safe, rifling carefully through the contents, taking each one out, photographing it and then placing it back in exactly the same position as he found it. There must be absolutely no trace that he had ever been there. Even a stray hair on the floor of the safe was carefully put back in its position. No trace. Nothing.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps and spoken Russian cut through the silence. Damn it. The rotation was early… The two agents froze, blending back into the dark shadows of the room. Colby reached under his arm and unclipped the sheath that held his combat knife. His fingers tightened around the handle, ready to slide the knife out of its sheath and straight across the throat of the first goddamn son of a bitch that walked through the door. He held his breath. Diane's fingers closed around one of her shurkiens, the throwing star deadly in her expert hands. Had she locked the door behind them? If she hadn't, they were finished. Colby knew that Diane didn't make stupid mistakes like that. She would have locked the door, wouldn't she?

His heart pounded in his chest, he was sure that the two guards outside could hear it. He slowed his breathing, his chest barely rising as his lungs inflated. Diane's eyes were glued on the door, her heart in her mouth… The door handle rattled as one of the guards checked it. His silhouette was clearly visible behind the glass panel of the door. The wooden frame juddered as he gave it another check. Colby tensed. If they were caught now, it was all over. He didn't care about dying. He just wanted to stop thousands of innocent people dying as well. That was far more important to him… For a third and final time, the door handle rattled and the guards, satisfied that everything was in order, moved away down the corridor, their voices growing fainter by the second.

Colby let out a silent sigh of relief and immediately turned his attention back to the safe. They had three minutes at most. Just as he was about to close the safe, a buff file caught his eye. It had a CIA crest on it…

He opened the file and took pictures of every page, ignoring the rising klaxon in his brain telling him to get the hell out of there. He had to get this intel. One last picture… A tap on his shoulder told him it was time to go. He glanced at Diane and nodded. Closing the file and putting it exactly back where he had found it, he pushed the safe door shut and locked it. Everything was as they had found it. With a few, high tech additional extras, of course. They now had less than a minute to get out of the office, down the corridor and back into the storage room before the next patrol. They slipped out of the room silently, Diane taking only a second to lock it behind her. As they bolted into the storage room, the sound of the patrol echoed down the corridor and Colby quickly shut the storage room door behind them. Diane had already dropped silently through the hole and into the access pipe beneath the room. Colby swung his legs through the hole and slipped down, pulling the cover back into position as he did. As the cover clicked back into place, one of the guards opened the storage room door and glanced around, checking. He frowned, but there was nothing in the room. No sign of any intruders. Everything was fine. He closed the door and carried on, completely unaware that he had missed Colby by less than a second.

Beneath the room, the two agents waited until they heard the door above them close. Diane ripped off her balaclava and grinned broadly. "Man, _that _was a bit close!" she breathed.

Colby tore his own balaclava off and ran his hand through his hair. He grinned back. "Your intel sucks, babes. That was never three and a half minutes!"

"Can I help it if they take short-cuts?" She stuffed her gloves and balaclava into her backpack and swung it onto her shoulders. She paused, staring at her partner. "Feelin' _alive_, CJ?" She winked at him and without waiting for his reply, trotted back along the pipe.

Colby stared after her and shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. "Hell _yes!" _He shrugged his own backpack onto his shoulders and took off after her…

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Colby shut the passenger door of the Jeep and sat back in the seat, his head leaning back on the headrest. Diane sat in the driver's seat, her hands on the steering wheel. Suddenly, she let out a little whoop and a laugh. "I _love _doin' that shit!" She grinned broadly and turned the key. As the engine burst into life, so did the stereo. AC/DC's 'Back in Black' came out of the speakers. Colby grinned. One of Di's favourite tunes…

Carefully and slowly, Diane eased the Jeep out onto the road, cautious not to draw any attention to them. The operation wasn't over until they were free and clear of the target site. Even in the midst of a post-operation euphoria, she was still a consummate professional. Colby leaned back and closed his eyes, mentally debriefing himself. His expression was blank, but inside his brain was calculating every possible angle. Diane scared him sometimes. He knew that underneath her cocky, cheerful exterior was a cold, hard and utterly ruthless professional soldier. That she could combine the two so effortlessly was what had made her such a damn good spy. Her expertise in strategy was second to none, but he knew that her combat training was what made her so deadly. The shuriken was a symbol of what she was. A kunoichi. A female ninja. Not the stupid, screaming ninjas of popular films, but a highly trained and deadly assassin, trained in the art of war. The shobo ring she wore was not merely decoration – it was carefully designed to strike the pressure points of her victims, rendering them unconscious or, if she was feeling particularly spiteful, dead. He'd seen her use it. He had one of his own… Diane had an almost amoral commitment to the service of her country and that of her allies. Both she and Colby had made some powerful enemies. But their masters knew them for who they really were. Dedicated and utterly committed to stopping people like Aranamov.

Aranamov had dodged them for seven years. Colby was determined that his and Diane's years of effort, pain, agony and loneliness would not go unrewarded. He had never wanted to see someone dead so badly as he did Aranamov… The bomb was priority number one. Aranamov was a distant third. In the middle was the real traitor. The real target. And Colby knew that, in his camera, he now had the evidence they had needed all along.

Out of sight and down by the side of his seat, Colby's fist tightened. He wasn't thinking about tomorrow. All that mattered right now was here. Now. With Diane.

Colby had never felt more alive than he did at this precise moment…

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Colby watched as Diane disappeared into the pre-dawn darkness, her black figure flitting between the shadows of the side road. Once she had disappeared from view, Colby pulled the Jeep back into the road and drove quickly to the bureau's headquarters. He knew that the team would already be there. And that there was yet another ass-chewing lined up from Don. He had been out of communication with his boss for several hours and, although he knew that Don had been briefed by the CIA, he also knew that Don was going to take out his frustrations on his junior agent. Colby shrugged. So be it.

A few moments later, the lift door pinged open and Colby, still dressed in the black fatigues he had worn earlier, stepped out into the office. He walked briskly towards Don.

"Where the _hell _have you b…"

Colby ignored Don's irate question and walked straight up to a computer. Staring intently at the screen, he tapped at the keyboard. The screen flickered and an image of Aranamov's office suddenly burst into sight. Don opened his mouth to speak again, but Colby beat him to it. "Aranamov's office. His inner sanctum. Seriously. The dude really needs to rethink his security system!" Colby didn't bother telling his boss that they had evaded capture by a split second. Need to know. Don didn't. He turned and faced his boss. "Aranamov's gonna move fast, if he hasn't already. My guess is the set-up's been arranged, but Aranamov won't give Al Q'aeda the co-ordinates until he knows everything's in place. He's not gonna know we've double crossed him about his brothers for another couple of hours, but then all hell's gonna break loose. We've got people feeding his contacts dis-information to buy us another few hours on top. He's a critter of habit. Only deals early in the morning. That," he pointed at the screen, "is gonna give us the head's up. When he makes the call, we'll know. And _that_ is where the hell I've been, Don. Do we have a problem?" He crossed his arms defiantly across his chest, his broad shoulders held back, his feet slightly apart.

"Who with, Col?" David stepped up quietly behind Don, facing his partner. "Who with?" He hated the sudden change in his friend. He still trusted Colby, but it was getting harder to hold onto that trust when the bastard kept scuttling off and doing this spying shit all the time. Colby's behaviour didn't help, but what really upset David was that fact that this sudden, apparent change in character wasn't that at all, but the revelation of Colby's true nature. This is who his partner really _was_. That's what hurt the most. That he could have been so utterly wrong about a man he thought he knew…

"A friend."

"I said _who, _Col?"

"An old partner of mine. We've worked together before."

David felt a flare of anger inside him. "You wanna stop _bullshitting_ me, man?"

Colby paused. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to lie once again to his friend. To say that no, it wasn't Diane. But he knew that this time, David would see through the lie, and would be furious at yet another deception. He'd lied to them so many times… Colby swallowed and his head dropped.

"God DAMN it! You're _working _with her? Are you _fucking kidding me_? With that…that…that _bitch?_"

"Yes." Colby's reply was quiet, unapologetic.

"Yes? _YES?_ You're serious? Jesus Christ Col, after everything she has put us…_me…_through? You kinda overlooking the whole plastique explosive vest incident here are ya? And the snipers? And the fucking bombs going off left, right and centre? Are you tellin' me that the ends justifies the means, Col? Because if you _are…_"

"Dave, ease up there…"

"Hell NO, Don, I will _not _ease up!" David was furious. He spun back and glared at his partner. He opened his mouth to launch yet another tirade at his friend but Colby spoke first.

"We have a bomb to find, Dave. You wanna take a swing at me? I get it. I really do. And I don't blame you. But you can do that _after, _okay? This? Between us? It's personal. Don't mix it with business, Dave. Colby's voice was flat and emotionless. David had heard that same note in Diane's voice before. It didn't invite debate. And he knew Colby was right.

"This conversation isn't over, brother!"

Colby flickered a smile at his partner and glanced at Don. "Oh, I think you're gonna have to get in line, Dave. Don has first dibs on knocking my head of my shoulders and we still gotta finish our own little conversation, so…" he shrugged. "Guess if we all come outta this alive, you can bust me then." Although his comment was flippant and typical Colby, David heard something else behind the words. He heard a terrible, heavy weariness in Colby's voice. The man wasn't just physically tired, he was mentally tired too. If all this had been tough on them, it had been even tougher on his partner. And as quickly as he saw Colby's weaker, vulnerable side, it was slammed shut again. "Now. We got a better idea on locations?" The question told David that their conversation was over.

Don, however, wasn't finished with his junior agent…

Eppes scratched absentmindedly at his head. "Charlie's narrowed down the potential targets. We've got bomb squad standing by…Colby? Can I, um, can I have a word?" He nodded towards one of the interview rooms and without waiting for Colby to reply, walked away.

Colby's heart sank. He thought that he'd just lost one friend. He was about to lose another. It _did _sting. More than ever before. He followed Don wordlessly, looking every inch the condemned man. David had seen that same look on his friend's face before. That instant on the subway station platform, just before he'd made his escape from them, six months previously. The look in his eyes that begged his friends to try and understand what he was doing and why. David watched him walk silently past him and for an instant their eyes locked.

David finally got it.

He was still Colby Granger. Still his partner and, more importantly, still his friend. Whatever his methods, and David still didn't agree with all of them, when it came down to the bottom line, Colby was on their side. And he had risked far more than any of them to prove it. David hoped and prayed Don would see that as well…

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Colby shut the door quietly and faced Don. "We really don't have time for this, Don."

"I know. So I'm gonna keep this brief. That operation wasn't sanctioned. I only found out about it _after _you'd gone in. You're a soldier, Col. You, um, you _remember _that little thing called chain of command?"

"I…"

"I haven't finished!" Don's voice was sharp. "I don't care, Colby, I really _don't care _who you went in with. I don't care why. What I _do _care about is that you did this on your own with no consultation with me, Col. You keep saying I'm your boss. That still the case? Because seriously? I'm beginning to doubt that!"

"Oh, for Christ's _sake_, Don!"

"NO! You goddamn _listen _to me!" Tempers flared. Don paced angrily. "You _listen_, Granger! That operation broke every damn procedure, every damn protocol, Christ, you broke several federal _laws _doing what you've just done!"

"I'm trying to stop a _fucking nuclear bomb!"_

_­_"WE ALL ARE!" Don lost his temper completely. "We _ALL _are, Col! Every single one of us! The _team _is trying to stop this! What the hell gives you the fucking right to think you can go all fucking superman on my ass and try to stop it yourself? You, _YOU, _Colby, you were the one who said you couldn't do it alone! Then you go and break every procedure…"

"Since when have _you _been such a fucking fan of procedure, Don?" Colby was tired, desperately tired. The usually easy-going, mild mannered man was at breaking point. "Since _when, Don, _have you been such a by the book agent? Huh? Christ almighty Don, why do you think the CIA actually _want _to work with your team? Huh? Precisely _because _you don't go by the damn book all the time!"

"I do when it _counts,_ Col!"

"BULLSHIT! You're the biggest fucking maverick of the lot of us!"

"You went totally off-script, Granger!"

"I FUCKING _HAD TO!" _Colby sat down heavily on the edge of the desk and ran a clenched hand through his hair.

"I KNOW! And _that's _what's pissing me off, Col! The fact that you've asked me to trust you so many goddamn times and all the freakin' time you didn't trust _US _enough to let us watch your back! It _cuts both fuckin' WAYS, COL!"_

There was an uneasy silence between the two men. Colby was stunned. All the time he had been fearing the worst, trying to protect the team from the dark, vicious world that he inhabited for so many years. Now, _now, _he also finally got it. Instead of trying to protect them, he'd driven a wedge between himself and the team. They were more than capable of dealing with this. No more lies… When he replied, his voice was soft and low. Don knew he had won this battle…

"Diane and I have been partners for seven years. We've been working on internal security and counter-intelligence operations classified as deep cover ops. Don, this isn't just about the bomb. We've got a leak so fucking high up in the CIA that it's pissing all over the president's desk! We're _this _close to nailing the son of a bitch. Don, think. Please. This bastard is willing to let a goddamn _nuke _go off in the middle of LA. What the _hell else _do you think he's capable of?"

Don stared at him, his face unreadable. Colby looked exhausted, beaten. For what seemed like an eternity, he studied his junior agent, a man he was really only just getting to know. He saw what David had seen…

"Can you stop it?" The question was direct and softly delivered.

"I can now." Colby looked up. "But only with your help. After?" He shrugged. "Well…"

"There _is _no after, Col. Not as far as I'm concerned." Don sat down opposite him, his arms folded. "You did a good job tonight. You _and _Diane." He held a hand up to stop Colby from replying. "And no, I'm not gonna give you any of that crap about if you pull a trick like that again, yadda yadda, okay?" He leaned forward. "You're off the leash, Colby. Do whatever you have to do, _BUT…_" he paused. "You _tell _me, okay? Every step of the way. I can't cover your ass if I don't know what you're doing. Are we clear?"

Colby gave Don a small smile. "Crystal."

Don stood up. "Good. Then I suggest we get to work…"

_**TBC…**_


	16. Drop Zone

Disclaimer.

The usual.

I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. That is the sole property of the Scott brother's legal team. Probably. Anyhoo, it ain't mine. The story and Diane Armstrong do, however, belong to me. Anyone who says different is a lying bugger and I'll personally whack 'em with a spoon. A BIG spoon...

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Colby shut the door softly and moved quickly across the room, opening the laptop as he hooked the chair away from the table with his foot. Sitting down in front of the computer, he pulled the camera's memory card from his pocket and slotted it into the USB port of the computer. He clicked an icon. Like dominoes, the downloaded pictures from his camera cascaded open. Colby began reading the pages of the CIA file he had found in Aranamov's safe. A growing sense of panic gripped his insides as he realised just what he was looking at. He sat back and ran his hand through his short hair, staring at the screen. "Jesus Christ!" Sitting forward suddenly, he hit the "PRINT" button. In the corner of the room, an inkjet printer murmured quietly to itself, spewing out images of the document's pages. Colby stood up and walked to the printers, his right hand hovering to gather up the pages. In his left hand, a cell-phone nestled, pressed to his ear.

"_CJ."_

"Diane. Give me a clean mailbox."

"_Use zulu-alpha."_

"Got it. Check your inbox. I'll cc it to Daniels. I don't trust Clarkson, and now I know why."

_Colby?_" Diane's voice held a note of concern. Colby closed his eyes, offering up a silent prayer to whichever damn saint presided over spies. They were gonna need all the help they could get. Diane sensed it in him. She only ever used his full name when she knew something was seriously wrong.

"Al Q'aeda get this file babes, and every damn one of us, you, me, every single CIC agent, special forces and counter intelligence agent will be dead within 24 hours, Di, mine _and _yours. Brits, Americans, the entire network."

"Jesus…"

"Jesus can't help us now, babes. We've been screwed, Diane. _Royally fucking screwed…"_

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"We've got movement."

Meg's statement immediately grabbed the team's attention. Agents instantly switched on the surveillance system, recording visual and audio digital signals straight to the laptops. Every sound and motion was crystal clear and the image was sharp. David muttered to himself.

"Ever think Colby's lot will share that technology with us? I mean, Jesus, what is this, High Definition TV?"

"It's the latest kit. Developed by the engineering department at MIT. You don't wanna ask where they got the funding." Colby grinned briefly as he appeared silently behind Don's turned back. David looked up at him, and Colby merely flickered another smile. "And no, we're not sharing it with you bozos until _you_ tell _us_ who really shot Kennedy." Don let out a brief chuckle. It was the first time he had ever heard Colby freely admit to being what he actually was. A spy. Perhaps having a spook on the team would pay off after all…

Colby pointed at a figure, clearly defined on the screen. "That's Aranamov."

Don peered at the man. "Primary target?"

Colby paused. "For me? Yes."

"He's making a call." Meg leaned across the desk and double clicked a mouse. The recording unit received the instruction that Colby's digital bug gave it and began running the analysis of the call. Random digits span on the screen and finally the eleven-digit number of a cell-phone stabilised on the monitor. "Tracing now." Meg double clicked again and the screen changed, scanning a spinning rotunda of code. A line blinked and a number appeared, quickly replaced by a blow-up of a driver's licence. "Drivers licence says the cell-phone is owned by a Mohammed Adeem."

"That's not Adeem. That's Sharif al Kalir." Colby's voice was soft.

"Kalir? As in the gunrunner we ran into at the start of all this? That the CIA were after?"

"The same."

"So he _is _our target."

"He's one of the targets. Aranamov is another. The third is being taken care of our end."

"What's that supposed to mean, Col?" Don frowned at his agent.

"Don, let's not do this _again_…"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

Their brief spat was interrupted by Aranamov's voice coming through the speaker. "Mike, papa, alpha, uniform, sierra, sierra." His image put the receiver back into its cradle and the voice recording clicked.

David looked puzzled. "What the hell did _that _mean?"

"It's code. The phonetic alphabet used by British forces. A lot of terrorists use the British system to supposedly confuse American listening stations because it's different from ours. Trouble is for them, we've got Brits working with us now. Have been since nineteen forty-seven. These dumbasses like to think that we're still involved in some kinda power struggle. Truth is the allied forces signed an agreement after the second world war to continue to pool their intelligence gathering resources. So we know each others codes." He paused and shrugged. "Well, most of them, anyways. The first three represent a location, the next one a specific instruction that's been prearranged and the last two, the time."

"Goddamn _secret codes?" _David rolled his eyes. "You gotta be kidding me…"

"Trouble we have here is we have no idea what each codeword represents. The specifics are only known to them." Colby frowned. "And we've got precisely no time to work out what it friggin' means."

"There's too many random variables in that code to make it possible to crack in an hour, Colby. I mean, the various permutations of the specific instruction _alone_…" Charlie drifted off. "It's colossal! Seriously. All we have is a random series of words…with…hang on…" Charlie started to scribble on a board, the mathematical equations tumbling from his pen like existential lemmings. "The main problem with this equation is that we have no baseline for the location or instruction, right?" Colby nodded. "But what we _do _have are a finite number of variables for the _time_, yes? Sierra sierra is a specific time, and we know that there are only so many variables that this particular code could refer to, seeing as there are a finite number of time combinations on a clock. We also know that Aranamov likes to work early in the morning, so we can discount any relationships that equate to time periods after…what would be a good baseline, Colby?"

"After noon. He's an early-bird."

"Okay, so sierra sierra represents a period of time before noon. Backtracking from that, I can probably apply the same algorithm to the location code and you can be waiting for them when they arrive."

"You can do that?" Don looked at his younger brother.

"If I can get access to the NSA mainframe, yes. Give me…half an hour."

"Okay, well get to it, Charlie. Meg? You watch that monitor like a hawk. If our man even blinks, I wanna know. David? Mobilise SWAT. Have them standing ready for our signal. As soon as Charlie gives us the co-ordinates, we move. Also get a deployment down to the stadium. I want every inch of that place combed. Colby? Get in touch with your people. Find out if they've got _any _idea where this damn meet's gonna take place." He paused. "Do whatever you need to." Without waiting for Colby or any of the rest of the team to reply, he walked away…

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Diane stared at the screen of her laptop, the utter horror at what she saw filling her with dread. She flipped open her phone and pressed a series of numbers. "Daniels? You seein' what I'm seein'?"

Daniel's soft American voice was filled with worry. "_Hell, yes. You and Colby did a good job, Di._"

"You won't mind if we hold off picking our medals up until this is sorted, D, will you?"

"_I'll keep 'em in a box for the pair of you. What's the next move your end_?"

"Bomb squad are combing possible targets, mainly the Dodger stadium. My guess is Colby and the FBI team will go after Aranamov and the file."

"_And you_?"

"CJ's gonna need me and Ian as backup. Just tell me this. Have we got enough here?"

"_To close Clarkson down? Yeah, I think this should do it."_

"It should never have got to this, D."

"_I know. As the old cliché goes, lessons will be learned, Di. You know there's another layer to all this. We need to find out Clarkson's motives, who was bankrolling him, what other secrets he's passed over and to whom."_

"As Charlie Eppes would say, there's a hell of a lot of variables there, dude."

"_As soon as we have Clarkson and things have been tidied up in LA, I want you and Colby back in Washington."_

"What for?"

"_Debrief. I also want you two to lead the interrogations." _Daniels paused. _"I know how persuasive you can both be."_

"I'm not too sure if CJ'll go for that, old son. You know his heart is set on staying with the FBI."

"_Colby is still a serving officer with the CIC. That's who pays his paycheck every month and that's who he's supposed to be loyal to. Diane, look. Colby's done one hell of a job at the FBI and if it wasn't for him, we'd have three major problems on our hands right now. Clarkson, the Chinese and that goddamn leak at the DoJ. The guy's been under enormous pressure for way too long. It's time for him to come home, Di. Time for both of you to come in from the cold."_

"I'll tell him you said that. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

"_Di…"_

"Look. CJ and I have been busting our arses for god knows how long for CIC and the Company. You know damn well he's still useful at the FBI. Just as you know I'm still useful doing what I do. You quoting Smiley's People dumb-assed lines at me about coming in from the cold isn't going to change what we both know. But all of that's immaterial if this list gets into the wrong hands." Diane sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Let us sort this out and then we can discuss the future, okay? If we all still have one by then."

_"You two take care of yourselves, okay? And Di? Try and grab Aranamov and Kalir alive. I know how much you both want to put a bullet in both of their brains, but…"_

"I know. They're more use alive than dead." Diane snapped the phone shut and tapped it against her chin. She stared blankly at the screen. There was no point in her reading any more. She knew enough already. She slotted in a flash drive to the side of the laptop and downloaded the file. Snatching the flash drive and pushing it deep into a pocket, she was about to dial a number on her cell-phone when it rang. She looked at the caller ID and grinned. "CJ. Just about to call you. Daniels is moving. Clarkson should be out of circulation in the next half hour. We need Aranamov alive. I know it goes against the grain, but that's the orders."

"_That sucks."_

"I know."

"_Okay, we got movement this end. Aranamov has used a code to direct Kalir to the drop."_

"Kalir? You're kidding me?"

"_Looks like you were on the right track right from the get-go, babes. The code is_ _mike, papa, alpha, uniform, sierra, sierra. Mean anything to you? I got Charlie working on it, he's doin' something dastardly with algorithms. But if you've got any input on this Di, it would help…"_

"Sorry babes. Unless we know the variables, we got nothing. But sierra sierra usually stands for eleven hundred hours. One one."

"_Babes, you're a fucking marvel!"_

"Can Charlie get the location co-ordinates from there?"

"_We should be able to work back. I'll let you know as soon as I have anything."_

"I got your back, CJ."

"_Back at ya."_

Diane heard the click as Colby disconnected the call. She looked around the motel room and picked up a black holdall. Time, as they say, to go to work…

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Charlie scribbled frantically on the board, the laptop churning out row after row of figures. A blinking cursor caught Charlie's attention and he spun around, staring at the screen. "Got it!" Don, Meg and David looked up.

"You've got a location?"

"Working from the information Diane gave Colby about the time codes, I was able to apply a prime rational algor…"

"The short version, Charlie." Don's voice was sharp. He didn't mean it to be but he was getting jittery.

"The short version? The meet is within a three block radius of this point." Charlie pulled up a map on the screen of downtown Los Angeles. A red dot marked a point next to Clement Junction.

"Right by the rail tracks. Bitch to cover."

"Not necessarily. We can use the freight terminal as cover." David pointed to the map. "If we bring SWAT in here, here and here, they can cover the entire three block area from an elevated position. Aranamov need never know they're there."

"Get them mobilised." Don turned to Charlie. "Good work, bro." He flashed a smile at his younger brother. Charlie grinned back. "Okay then people, let's move."

The team sprang into action, but paused as Colby spoke briefly. "Guys? Sorry to lay this on you, but my people want Aranamov and Kalir alive. So if we can avoid head shots? That'd be great." He flickered an ironic smile at his friends.

"We'll do our best to oblige, Mister Bond." David grinned at his partner.

Colby scowled, but David knew it was a mocking look. "Screw you, Sinclair…"

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Agent Ian Edgerton shifted his weight and scanned the railway junction through the scope. The call from Diane had been unexpected, but the confirmation from Colby that the operation was a go left no room for doubt. Finally. After seven damn years, the team were this close to closing down Clarkson's whole vile operation. Everyone associated with CIC would be able to rest a little easier in their beds tonight…

"_Hey Ian." _Colby's voice came through Ian's earpiece.

"Charlie sure of the drop zone? Seems way too open for Aranamov. He normally likes a more covered position."

"_Well, it's ten fifty. Guess we'll find out in ten minutes, huh?"_

Ian laughed quietly. That was Colby. Maybe the concerns about his mental state had been a little premature. He still had that ridiculously laid back tone to his voice. Ian knew it all too well. He'd seen his friend in action over the years and knew damn well that the laid-back persona disguised a ruthless bastard underneath. That's what made Colby such a good spy. The sheer implausibility that everyone felt when they found out what he actually was. The man wore his cover like a second skin…

"Black sedan approaching from the north." Ian focused in on the car, using the powerful sights to look at the faces of the occupants. "Aranamov. Good old Charlie."

"_Ian? Alive, dude, okay? Alive. Go for a knee or shoulder."_

"You spoil all my fun, Col!"

"_Buddy, I wish it were different, believe me..."_

The black sedan crunched across the rough terrain and crossed a set of tracks. From the cover of a freight cart shunted into a siding, Don, Meg and David watched it approach. The car pulled into a quiet corner of the junction and stopped. Meg scanned the layout of the land. "Where the hell's Colby?"

"I'm right here." Meg span around as Colby climbed into the boxcar from the other side. "SWAT are in place. Now we wait for Kalir." He looked up at Ian's position and then across to the sedan. Where the hell was Diane? A voice crackled in his ear.

"_CJ."_

Colby turned from his friends, frowning. "How the hell did you get on this channel, Di?"

"_Oh, c'mon! You're not the only tech-head in town, Granger! Ian on the roof?"_

"As ever." Don looked up at him, a puzzled expression on his face. Colby mouthed Diane's name at him and Don scowled. He still didn't like the woman, even if she was on their side…

"_I'm about fifty yards to the right of the sedan. Aranamov's in there with three goons. They're expendable. You have told your people that we want him alive, right?"_

"They know their job, Di."

"_I'm sorry. Of course. Wait…hang on…okay, Kalir's here. Blue sedan coming in from the east."_

"We see him. Okay people, get ready…"

The blue sedan pulled up alongside the black car of Aranamov and stopped. The doors opened and the men stepped out. The entire team tensed, ready for the signal. Colby's eyes were fixed on the men. "On my mark…"

Aranamov and Kalir shook hands warmly, the smiles going no further than their lips. Aranamov held out a suitcase and Kalir nodded to one of his men. The man stepped forward to take the briefcase and…

"_**NOW!"**_

A red dot appeared on Aranamov's shoulder and before he had time to react, Ian's bullet slammed into his clavicle, shattering the bone and sending the man sprawling on the ground, writhing in agony. Kalir whipped his head around, desperately looking for the sniper and a double tap took his legs from under him as Diane sprinted forward, shooting low. Don's team burst out of the boxcar simultaneously with SWAT, surrounding the remaining men in a sea of guns and yells demanding that they drop their weapons. The men capitulated quickly, dropping to their knees, their hands raised above their heads.

Diane crouched beside the writhing Kalir, a nasty smile playing across her lips. She wrenched the briefcase from his fingers and clicked it open. She pulled out a buff file and snapped the briefcase closed again. Stuffing the file inside her jacket, she stood up and picked up the briefcase. In passing, she gave Kalir a kick in the knee. He screamed in agony and launched a tirade of expletives at the woman in Arabic. She merely smiled again and walked away. As she passed Don, she winked conspiratorially at him and handed him the briefcase. "Think you'll find everything you need in there, Special Agent Eppes…"

Colby reached the prone form of Aranamov and stood over him, his gun trained on the man. His green eyes were filled with utter hatred. All the memories came crashing back. The months of agony he and Diane had suffered at the hands of Aranamov's paid private police force in Kosovo. The torture. The pain. The constant lies he had had to tell his friends and the doubt it raised again in their minds over Colby's trustworthiness. The violent and elaborate plan Diane had been forced to adopt to keep their cover intact, putting his friend's lives at risk. It was all down to this man. Everything crowded in on him and a red mist descended in his brain. His face twisted into an ugly snarl as he battled against the urge to pull the trigger, but the wounded man could see that it was a struggle Colby would loose any second now. David laid a hand on his partner's shoulder, his fingers digging into Colby's deltoid muscle. "Hey, hey! Col! Alive, man, remember?" David's voice was soft but persuasive. Colby took a shaking breath and slowly lowered the gun. His eyes still bored into Aranamov's. The terrorist knew he owed David his life right then…

"Alive. Yeah. Sure. _For now_." Colby turned abruptly and walked away…

_**TBC….**_


	17. Interrogation

Disclaimer

Here we go again…

As with every single other chapter, I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. The story and Diane Armstrong belong to me. If it were different, d'ya honestly think I'd be writing this crap for _free_?

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Demitri Aranamov sat in the interrogation room, his hands still restrained by the hard metal handcuffs around his wrists. A red stain had bled through the dressing on his shoulder and beads of sweat ran down his face. The bullet still lodged in his shoulder was clearly causing him considerable distress.

Behind the two-way mirror, Colby watched him impassively, his arms crossed over his chest. Ian glanced at his friend. The only indication of any emotion in the younger man was the tension Ian could see in the muscles of Colby's powerful arms. Ian knew that Colby was ready to punch his way through the wall to get to Aranamov, but with astounding self-control, he had managed to suppress his overwhelming desire to snap the Russian's neck like a twig.

"He's hurtin'."

Colby nodded. "Good." His voice was ice-cold. "Give him a while. He'll talk when he's ready."

Ian stared at the prisoner through the mirror. "This isn't the FBI's way of doin' things, buddy." Ian paused and turned to his friend. "You know that." His voice was soft, matter of fact.

Colby turned his head and met Ian's look. His normally open, friendly green eyes were utterly brutal. "He's responsible for helping Al Q'aeda plant a dirty bomb somewhere in the Dodger stadium, Ian. I need to know where. I don't have time to be a _nice, _little FBI agent, my friend."

"Col, we got about five minutes before Don comes through that door and busts us both out. We'll both be burned, bud." He leaned forward and dropped his voice. "You and I both know there are methods the FBI won't use. They'll do the usual interrogation routine, ya know? The one Aranamov's expecting?"

"Your point?"

"We go in there right now. Use more, um, _direct _methods. We need to know where that bomb is, Col, and we need to know fast. Like you said. We don't have _time _for being nice, little FBI agents. We got minutes, Col."

Colby smiled nastily. "Better get on with it then, huh?"

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Aranamov gritted his teeth as another wave of pain from the gunshot wound Ian had inflicted upon him hit. He had expected to be taken to a hospital, but the big agent had bundled him straight into a black Jeep and he and another agent had brought him straight to the bullpen. Taking him through a back route, they had pushed him into a room and left him there. Through the slots of the blinds that hung against the glass walls, Aranamov could see the hustle and bustle of the FBI's office. In a way he felt glad the men had brought him here. At least the fact that he was in an open office gave him a measure of protection from brutality. Had they taken him to a remote, deserted location, he knew he would now be screaming in agony. Aranamov relaxed a fraction, lulled into a sense of security. He needed time to think. He had hoped that the chance to plan a route out of this would have presented itself at the hospital. But they hadn't taken him there. They hadn't given him that chance to gather his wits. The Americans were not showing him the easy treatment he had expected. The one that had really rattled Aranamov's usually arrogant bravado was the big American that had stood over him, a look of hatred on his face. The one who had battled with a decision to kill him there and then. Aranamov felt that he should know him. His brow creased as he tried to think. He definitely felt that he should know the man, but from where? What had caused such ire, such hatred from a stranger? A stranger who was willing to let a man suffer, despite some kind of unwritten code that law enforcement officers never let anyone suffer unnecessarily, not even the guilty? Aranamov swallowed. It wasn't the simple, justifiable outrage of a law enforcement officer faced with a murderer.

No.

This was the hatred, the outrage of a man betrayed.

Aranamov tried to think back into his past, searching for a trigger that would awaken a name, a face, a _reason_…

The door opened softly and Ian walked in, followed by the figure of Colby. Menace seemed to come in waves from the two men. Aranamov's guts twisted. He had seen that kind of menace before. Years before, in the battle-ravaged wastelands of Kosovo…

Beneath the bombed-out living nightmare of the streets where the slaughter was relentless, raged a darker, hellish, vicious battle. A secret pit of subterfuge, espionage and a never-ending war of nerves. The secret police were savage in method, merciless in intent. Anyone who fell into their clutches would pray for the sweet release of a bullet eventually. Their interrogators were intelligent, violent and completely unfeeling. These two men had the same kind of presence. Aranamov frowned. Although in the younger man the menace seemed to have an added ingredient. A _personal _hatred.

Ian quietly locked the door and pulled the blinds closed. The background of the busy office had given Aranamov the false hope that the interrogation would be tempered by the very observance of other officers. It would protect him against the threat of physical harm. Now, by simply drawing the blinds, Ian had snatched that false hope from Aranamov.

Colby reached up and unplugged a camera. Aranamov watched the two men remove any means of taping or recording the interrogation. Aranamov knew that this was against all FBI protocol. He had studied their methods. Always know your enemy's weakness. The American sense of justice had been Aranamov's key defence. He knew the game had just changed. Although an observer could still see into the room via the mirror, no conversation could be heard. No screams, either…

Colby pulled out a chair and sat opposite Aranamov. He placed his hands in front of him on the table, slowly interlocking his fingers. The body posture was infinitely subtle and deeply effective. A controlling gesture. The rest of Colby's body posture was relaxed, serene almost. Colby gave Aranamov a small smile. His eyes, however, told Aranamov far more than the smile. He looked into the eyes of the man he _knew _would, eventually, kill him. His Russian heritage and deeply ingrained beliefs spoke of a look in the eyes of the damned have. This man, this green eyed man who faced him had that look…

Ian stood directly behind Aranamov, leaning casually against the strut between the floor length glass panels of the wall. He folded his arms and fixed his stare at the back of Aranamov's neck. The Russian could feel his eyes burning into him. But he couldn't turn around and confront Ian's gaze. He couldn't tear himself away from the hate-filled eyes of Colby Granger.

"Where's the bomb?" Colby spoke the question softly, almost as if he would speak to a frightened child. It made it all the more chilling. But Aranamov rallied. Once your interrogator had spoken, the game of verbal chess could begin. Aranamov had trained in the art of interrogation. But he left the dirty work of actually carrying out such interrogations to his more brutal colleagues. Their methods, although savage, were usually successful. But this? Ah, yes! Finally, he had time to think. They were trying the softly-softly American way. He had plenty of time… Aranamov mirrored Colby's frigid smile.

"What bomb?"

He didn't even see Colby's hand move. In a fraction of a second, his hand had gone from being a relaxed, loosely clenched fist to a savage and pinpoint accurate palm strike to Aranamov's injured shoulder. The hard heal of his hand slammed into the bullet wound and in a trice was back on the table, loose and relaxed again. The strike caused a sickening bolt of agony to crash through Aranamov's body. He threw his head back and roared, gasping for breath as wave after wave of pain seared through his shoulder. Involuntary nausea made him wretch and he fought desperately against the urge to be violently sick. His roar died off into a strangled whimper and a dark mist closed around his vision. He felt himself slipping to one side, but a strong pair of hands grasped him from behind, pushing him back upright into the chair. The pressure on his left arm brought more agony to his injured shoulder.

"Upsy daisy." Ian straightened the man out and patted him affectionately. "I'd answer him, if I were you. He's just getting' warmed up over there…"

Demitri lifted his drooping head from his chest and levelled his gaze at Colby. His words were rasping. "You can't do this to me! I'm an American citizen!"

"Citizenship revoked." Colby's voice was flat.

"You can't do that! The FBI doesn't have the power…"

"We're not FBI." Ian whispered the words into Aranamov's ear, stopping him dead and sending a chill down his spine. Ian pressed a finger against his lips conspiratorially. Aranamov looked at Colby through a fog of pain.

Colby merely smiled. "Where's the bomb?" Still that level, even tone…

"I don't know what you're talking…"

Colby's hand moved on the table. Just a fraction. It was enough…

"NO! No, please! I swear!" Aranamov pushed his back hard against the chair, desperately trying to put himself out of range from a second cobra strike to his shoulder. He felt the panic rise in him as Ian's vice-like grip tightened on his shoulder, one finger pressing into the bullet wound.

"He asked you a question, Demitri."

"Where's the bomb?" The two men's voices were soft. These were the tactics of experienced interrogators. Skilled, _military _interrogators. Slowly, a distant memory started to surface… He knew now that whomever these men were, they were _not _regular FBI. His breathing was rapid and shallow. He needed time to think. Time to build up some kind of mental resistance to their torture. Time to accustom his body to a different level of pain. But they weren't giving him the time he needed…

"Where's the bomb?" Again, Colby asked him the question. He could see Aranamov was starting to crack. They had to work quickly.

"I don't know!"

The pressure from Ian's fingers increased, just a fraction. It was enough to send yet another explosion of pain bursting through Aranamov. As he wailed in agony, Colby asked him again. "Where's the bomb, Demitri? Where is it? Where's the bomb?"

"Where's the bomb, Demitri?" Ian echoed Colby's every question.

"I swear! Please, don't! PLEASE!"

"Where's the bomb?"

"I…oh God please help me! I _don't know!"_

"Not good enough, my friend." Ian's voice was as flat and emotionless as Colby's. Again, his fingers flexed, applying enough pressure to turn the pain control up to eleven. Aranamov let out a strangled cry.

Colby leaned forward and whispered. "_Where's…the…bomb?"_

"I…" Aranamov couldn't help himself. "Dodger stadium. The underground service tunnels. Under the pitch. Please…" He gasped for air, praying for the relief of unconsciousness.

"Where? _Exactly_?"

"Tunnel six! The underground heating system main control point. Section D! Please! That's all I know…" His head slumped forward.

The door rattled and a fist pounded against the wood. Colby nodded to Ian and stood up quickly. Ian pushed the injured man back into his chair and patted his cheek. "Don't think this is over, my friend. We got plenty more questions. But hey. I reckon they can wait a little while, don't you, Demitri?" He patted him again.

"See you in Guantanamo, buddy." Colby flashed a chilling smile at the Russian and calmly unlocked the door.

Don burst into the room and took in the scene quickly. The injured man looked ashen, his face wet with sweat. He glanced at the two agents. Their faces were unreadable. Don felt his hackles rise. He knew what they'd done. He _knew_. And it went against everything he believed in. Intimidation was one thing. _Torture_? That was unacceptable. And to think that torture had been inflicted by a man whom had been brutalised by it himself? Don was sickened. When he finally spoke, the one word was filled with a barely contained fury.

"Colby?"

"Bomb is in the underground heating control point below the Dodger's pitch. Tunnel six, section D."

Don stopped in his tracks. He was faced with a dilemma he didn't relish. Yes, he was furious that two of the best agents the FBI had on their books had resorted to black ops style interrogation methods. But the information it had yielded could save thousands of lives. He could understand _why _they had done what they had. But he had a nasty feeling that Colby in particular had almost _enjoyed _it. He hoped to _GOD _he was wrong…

But right now? All that had to wait. He could have the luxury of wrestling with this particular demon later on.

"Okay. Let's roll." He pushed his personal feelings aside. "We have a bomb to defuse…"

**_TBC…_**


	18. Time waits for no man

Disclaimer:

Okay everyone, after three…one…two…_three_…I-don't-own-anything-to-do-with-Numb3rs *and breathe* …but-I-do-own-the-story-and-Diane-Armstrong. *and breathe again.*

Now.

Where were we?

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Colby took the corner on two wheels as the black SUV raced through the streets of LA, sirens blaring. His hand gripped the steering wheel as he hauled on the handbrake, fishtailing the back end of the SUV through ninety degrees and pointing the nose of the car hard left.

"Stadium's up on the right." David held on for dear life. He knew that Don and Ian were doing the same in the back of the car.

"What, that big, oval shaped building over there?" Colby pointed. "Yeah, thanks for that, buddy. The satnav said on the left but hey, never did trust that nagging bitch." He flashed a brief grin at his partner. There was no humour in the smile. David knew that Colby was using his usual good humored quips to cover up a much deeper and very real fear that, if they didn't get it right this time then, well, it really didn't matter any more, did it? There was no choice here. If they failed, they'd die. Every single one of them. And thousands upon thousands of others, too. They had no time to evacuate. David looked out of the window as the SUV sped through the crowded city streets. He watched as humanity went about its daily business, completely unaware that they were perhaps minutes from total annihilation. The lives of every single person were in the hands of the four men in that black SUV. David felt a knot in his stomach tighten. He didn't want that kind of responsibility. None of them did. He felt sick to his very soul…

Don watched Colby navigate his way through the busy LA traffic with precision, the green eyes occasionally flickering back into the mirror. For a second, he met his agent's gaze and their eyes locked. In that split second, Don could see a very different Colby to the one he had grown to know and respect over the past few years. Colby had come to the squad as a rookie agent with a quiet manner and a gentle good humour that belied his real strengths. As Colby's confidence had grown within the team, Don had seen more of the soldier come out in the younger man. Sure, he was relaxed and easy going, but there was an edge to Colby that hinted of a very different man underneath. That had all been confirmed with the Chinese affair, when they had finally found out the truth of Colby's real identity. And yet there was more. Each time, chipping away at the memory of a junior agent who once had seemed so unsure of himself. Don had always known that Colby's harshest critic was himself. And right now he was beating himself up inside over this whole affair. The look he had given Don through the mirror was the eyes of a man who was on the very edge of his limit…

"Bomb squad is in response. But they're about ten minutes behind us." Ian snapped his phone shut.

"Let's hope it's enough."

The SUV slued into the parking lot at the front of Dodger Stadium and screeched to a halt. Before the engine had finished idling, all four doors were open and the agents hit the ground running. A cacophony of sirens screamed in the distance, all merging on the stadium. Ian and Colby burst through the doors, followed a split second later by Don and David. They pounded across the echoing entrance, drawing stares from the crowds of onlookers who thronged the space. The agent's FBI vests identified them clearly, spreading a murmour of alarm. The looks on the men's faces disturbed the usually mundane lives of the audience, bringing a little excitement into an otherwise dull day. If they only knew how far from mundane this day really was…

A janitor, slopping a mop across a spill of cola paused in mid-wipe as Colby barreled towards him. The big man thundering towards him fixed the janitor with a stare that turned the man's legs to stone. He froze, wondering if the man was actually going to stop this rhino charge before he crashed headlong into him and knocked him flailing to the ground. His eyes widened and he gripped the mop handle tightly for support… Colby skidded to a halt in front of him, his hands gripping the janitor's shoulders like vices. "Service tunnels! Underground heating system! _WHERE?_"

The janitor pointed a shaking finger wordlessly towards a door. Colby nodded. Then for a second, he paused, looking deep into the janitor's eyes. He only spoke one word. "Run." The janitor had never felt so inclined to run for his life. Without a second's hesitation he dropped the mop and did what he was told…

Ian kicked the door of the service tunnel entrance open and pounded down the metal stairs, his bootfalls ringing loudly against the steel. At the bottom of the steep stairs the passageway opened out in front of them. Ian paused, studying the layout of the tunnels. "Which way? _Which fucking way?"_

"Left!" David pointed to a sign on the wall. "Section six. D. This way!" Their running feet echoed around the passageway, the sound almost drowning out the pounding of their hearts. Don felt physically sick. The reality of the situation suddenly hit him like a truck. As he ran, blindly following his instinct and Ian and Colby's lead, he thought about his father. Time seemed to slow down and his surroundings became a background to a far more powerful and overwhelming urge to protect his family. The image of Alan's attempt at a birthday cake for him just a few days earlier. The look of barely suppressed amusement on Charlie's face. The smell and feel of the family home that he had grown up in. All of the memories crowded in around him. In a few short minutes, all of that would be gone in a white hot flash of blinding light and a mushroom cloud raining invisible death down upon thousands of helpless, innocent souls.

The images vanished from Don's mind and his vision cleared. He suddenly understood exactly why Ian and Colby had done what they had to Aranamov. Sometimes, the ends really _did _justify the means.

No matter what it took. They _had _to stop that bomb. To stop it from happening. To stop it all from ending…

David watched as Don's expression changed subtly and he suddenly picked up the pace, grim determination on his face. David willed a surge of effort into his legs and kept step with Don, matching his increase in speed. David suddenly realised exactly how it felt to be running for your life…

Colby suddenly veered sharply to the right, shoulder barging a door open without breaking his stride. The door shattered open, the lock flying smashed into the corridor. David glanced at the door as he ran through. Peeling paint outlined a letter d on the dust-covered door. They were close. The corridor narrowed, a cluster of metal pipes lining the low curved ceiling. The orange lighting gave the corridor a malignant glow, as if they were running towards Hell itself. The humidity from the heating pipes gave the air a thick, heavy consistency. It was as if the very walls were closing in around them. "THERE!" Ian slid forward, grabbing at an overhead pipe and swinging himself back. He dropped to his knees in front of an innocuous looking flightcase, his breathing heavy. The frantic run through the echoing corridors, the wild, rollercoaster of a ride of the last few days – all that was forgotten. This simple, shining case now filled their entire lives with its presence. Nothing, _nothing _else mattered right now…

Ian tried to bring his breathing under control. The ex-solider froze, the enormity of what sat millimeters from his hands hitting him full in the gut. He glanced at Colby who looked over his shoulder and then back at the case. His hands moved slowly towards the bomb, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned and Colby's green eyes met his. "This is my department, buddy. If I need anyone shot, I'll let you know." Colby gave his friend a small smile. Ian nodded and stood up, stepping away from the bomb. Colby took Ian's position, crouched in front of the bomb. For what seemed like an eternity to Don, Colby merely stared at the bomb, seemingly lost in thought.

"What in the _hell _is he doing?" Don's voice was a harsh whisper, reluctant to break Colby's obvious concentration.

"Well, you know if you need a sharp shooter, you call me?" Don nodded at Ian. "Ever wondered what this bozo's particular talent is?" Ian winked conspiratorially. "You want something blown up in really, _really _complicated ways," Ian jerked a thumb at Colby, "you call this dude."

"Why'd ya think I always read the technology section in the newspapers, Don?" Colby's eyes didn't leave the bomb, but Don saw a flicker of a smile on the corner of Colby's mouth. "Always had a bit of an aptitude for engineering." Colby shrugged. "Yeah. I admit it. I'm a geek." He glanced at Don. "But hey, nowhere _near _your brother's league, man!" He turned his attention back to the flightcase and studied it again. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision and without warning reached down and pressed back the lock buttons. The locks clicked loudly. David, Don and Ian all flinched at the sound of the click, instinct telling them that the void of instant death was heralded by that razor-sharp sound. As they realised that they were all still alive, all three men let out a inadvertent sigh of relief. So did Colby. "Whoa. _That_ was a lucky guess…" Colby's dark sense of humour covered his obvious relief that his decision had been the right one. By taking a few seconds to study the case, he could clearly see that the locks hadn't been tampered with. It had been safe to open the lid of the case. Still…

Colby studied the layout of the bomb as it nestled innocently inside the case. An LED display panel showed a countdown, relentless in its progress. They had four minutes…He frowned as he studied the rat's nest of wires that criss-crossed the bomb. "Most of these are duds. Dummy wires to confuse anyone trying to disarm it. I'm guessin' that there's a primary charge we need to disarm first. The secondary charge is probably underneath the central control panel. But to get to that, I need to take the primary charge offline first."

"Um, you're _guessin'_?" David's voice was sharp.

"Hey buddy, it's all guesswork. But the thing with nukes is that they have to have a certain chain of reactions to make them go critical. A bit like a starter motor for a car engine. Once you disengage the starter motor, it's much more difficult to crank the engine over."

"Let Charlie handle the analogies, okay brother? You just focus on cutting the right damn wire."

Colby reached into his back pocket of his fatigues and pulled out a small combat knife. He knew it wasn't regulation FBI issue, but his old army habits just wouldn't let him go anywhere without the blade. It was an old friend. He trusted its keen edge. He studied the wires again, his fingers tracing them back. David shifted nervously. "Man, are you _sure_…"

A darting look from Ian stopped David in mid-sentence. He gave David a reassuring smile. "He's sure, buddy. Right Col?"

"As sure as I can be." Colby glanced up. "But hey, if I don't cut any of these wires, this son of a bitch is gonna blow up anyway, so…" He shrugged. "Here goes nothin'…" He slipped the blade of his knife under a wire his fingers had prized clear of the bundle. Everyone held their breath as he pulled back on the knife. The razor-sharp edge of the blade bit into the plastic coating and the wire broke.

"Um, Col? Countdown? Buddy, it's still runnin'." Ian's voice was strained.

"Yeah. Bitch, huh? That was the primary charge. I gotta get to the main detonator." Colby worked quickly, unscrewing four small bolts that held a metal plate in place. "The main detonator will be connected to the percussive cap. In this design, they're always _right…there_." Colby pulled back the metal plate and uncovered yet another rat's nest of wires. In the centre sat a metal dome, four of the wires feeding from the rat's nest into the shining steel. Colby sat back for a second, slowing his breathing. He had to be precise in every move now, his hands steady. They had only two minutes left…

Don could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he watched Colby work. He had known that the man had a good knowledge of explosives, but _this_? He ran a hand over his face, relishing the pressure against his eyes as he rubbed them for a second. Colby's face was one of absolute concentration – nobody dared speak, dared _breathe_. Again, he traced the wires with nimble fingers, working methodically and carefully. Finally, satisfied that he had chosen wisely, he picked out one wire from the bundle and slid the knife blade gently underneath it, blade up. The wire strained against the steel blade, yielding slightly. The LED countdown ticked away. Twenty seconds…

Taking one last shaking breath, Colby closed his eyes, offered up a silent prayer to whomever might be listening and cut the wire…

_**TBC…**_


	19. Fallout

Disclaimer:

This is the point where I say the usual stuff about not owning anything to do with Numb3rs but owning the story and the character of Diane Armstrong. Wanna know why us writers do these disclaimers? It's called coverin' yer arse, kiddos.

What?

Do you have any idea how expensive a copyright lawyer is?

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The flashing numbers of the LED countdown stopped.

Eight seconds.

That was all they'd had left.

Don leaned back against the wall using the damp brickwork to take the weight off his legs. They felt like jelly. If he didn't cling to the support of the solid wall, he knew his shaking muscles would yield and his legs would fold up under him. Ian slid down slowly onto his haunches and let out a shaking breath. "Jesus!" The expletive was filled with relief. He glanced at Colby, sincerely glad that the guy was as talented at electronics as he was at shooting. Colby's head dropped forward onto his chest, his eyes tight closed. Every muscle was rigid with tension, the knife still clutched in his right hand. Colby let out a huge sigh of relief and tipped his head back, eyes still closed, feeling the dampness of the condensation from the wall cooling the skin on the back of his neck. He opened his eyes and looked directly at Don. Don returned his look, flickering a brief smile at his junior agent.

"Good job, buddy." It was an effort to speak. Colby merely nodded and leaned back against the wall again, concentrating on bringing his pounding heart under control…

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As the four men emerged back into the daylight of the parking lot, they were surrounded by frantic activity. They moved silently through the tumult and towards the SUV. In the background, the bomb squad were busy backing up an armoured truck to the doors of the stadium and agents in full hazisuits walked into the entrance hall, set on retrieving the bomb Colby had made safe. The entire area was cordoned off by LAPD officers, the curious public being kept at bay.

None of the four agents spoke. There just weren't the words. As they reached the SUV Colby's cell phone rang. He stopped and reached into his pocket, pulling out the phone and scowling as he read the name on the caller ID screen. He looked up at Don. "I gotta take this." Without waiting for Don's reply, he wordlessly walked away from the three men flipping the phone open and pressing it to his ear. "Granger." As he spoke his name he moved a little further away, turning his back on his friends and their questioning looks.

"_Good job, Colby."_

Colby rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Daniels. Man, your intel really is fucking hot off the presses, isn't it?" He chuckled quietly.

"_Oh, c'mon, Colby. Something like this? Doesn't take too long to hit the wires, agent. Is the situation locked down?"_

"That's an affirmative."

"_Good. I need you on the next plane to Washington_."

"I gotta pile of paperwork to do this end first, Daniels. My boss needs my report as soon as possible."

"_Your boss?"_

Colby frowned again and turned back towards his team. He studied the three men for a second, aware of their gaze on him in return. For a second he locked eyes with Don again. He paused and then without looking away from his friend and colleague, finally answered Daniel's question. "Yeah. My _boss._ Special Agent Don Eppes." He turned away again, ignoring Don's puzzled frown. "Soon as I'm clear this end, I'll take me some leave." He smiled to himself. "I hear DC's pretty nice this time of year, ya know?" Colby snapped the phone shut, not bothering to wait for Daniel's response, and stuffed it back in his pocket. He walked back towards the team. Don raised an eyebrow.

"Everything okay, Col?"

Colby smiled warmly. It was the first time in a while Don had seen Colby look like his old self. "It's all good, Don," Colby replied…

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The Bullpit was a hive of activity when the four agents arrived back. David peeled off as they walked through the office, heading for his own desk and the chance to just be alone for a few moments – to gather his thoughts and to try and come to terms with what had happened. Ian needed some alone time too. He fell back and moved into the deserted canteen, the simple act of making a cup of coffee grounding him back to normality. Colby went to move to his own desk and begin the process of writing his report when a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Can I talk to you a minute?" Don's face was unreadable. Colby followed him into a side room and softly closed the door behind them. Don sat on the corner of a desk and stared at the younger man. "This isn't over for you, is it, buddy?"

Colby sighed and leaned back against the wall. His voice was soft and tired. "No, Don. It ain't over. They want me back in Washington on the next plane."

"How long for?"

"I don't know." Colby looked thoughtful and his head dropped. When he spoke again, his voice was low and uncertain. "Guess it depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not I've got a reason to come back to LA."

Don frowned, the lines creasing his forehead. "Well, um, I guess there's the little matter of your goddamn _job_, Col! Ya know? The one here? The one me and the rest of the team happen to think you're pretty goddamn _good_ at?" He glared angrily at the younger man, his voice sharp but deep down he was hoping that Colby understood what he was trying to say. Trying to explain to one of his best agents that no matter what had happened, he still wanted him on his team.

Colby looked up and smiled weakly. "That's a good enough reason for me, Don."

Don felt as if a weight had been lifted from both their shoulders. Colby _had _got the message. He nodded, his smile lighting up his face. "Good. Cause I was dreadin' tellin' Dave he was gonna have to break in a new partner, ya know?" Colby laughed briefly.

"Yeah. Way to piss him off, man."

Don chuckled and paused. Time to give Colby a little manoeuvring room. He knew that his junior agent's commitment to the FBI was total, but there were still loose ends to be tied up. No point in making it any more difficult for the man… "Ya know, after everything that's happened over the last few days, I think you could probably do with taking some of that leave you've been storing up, waddya think?" He pushed himself off the desk and stood up. "Ya know. Go do a little bit of _fishing._ See what you can catch." He fixed Colby with a pointed stare. "I hear there's good fishing this time of year near Washington, buddy." Without another word he walked to the door. As he passed his agent, he patted him affectionately on the shoulder, the simple gesture saying everything that words couldn't.

"Don?" Don paused, his hand on the door handle. He glanced back. Colby looked at him, his tired, green eyes deadly serious. "Thanks." Don smiled and walked out of the room, satisfied that his team remained intact…

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Colby dozed fitfully on the plane. The memories of the last few days haunted his fractured dreams. As the wheels of the plane screeched onto the tarmac of the runway he looked out of the window, refamiliarising himself with a very different skyline.

As he stepped off the final rung of the stairs from the plane two suited men, their eyes hidden behind black sunglasses, stepped forward. "Agent Granger?" Colby stopped and looked at the two Company men. He nodded. "If you'll step this way sir, we have a car waiting for you."

Colby chuckled. "Of course you do, my friend!" He waved them on and the three men walked towards a black sedan. One of the suits held the rear passenger door open and Colby obediently climbed into the back of the car, settling into the comfortable leather seat. The door closed softly.

"Welcome back, Agent Granger."

Colby shook his head, smiling to himself. "Hello Agent Daniels."

"There _was _a time when you used to call me _sir_, you cheeky son of a bitch!" Daniel's voice had a tone of mild rebuke but at the same time a hint of resigned amusement.

"Really?" Colby shrugged. "What in the hell was I thinking?"

Daniels let out a genuine laugh. "Yeah, well I guess after the job you did in LA, I can let a little touch of insubordination slide." He held out a hand and Colby shook it warmly. "Well done, CJ."

"Thanks, Mark."

The black sedan pulled out of the airport and onto the freeway. Colby relaxed for the first time in weeks. He couldn't deny it – it felt good to be in the company of men from whom he didn't have to hide his real identity from. He didn't have to lie or cover up, just for once…

Daniels opened a file and rested it on his knees. "Aranamov's singing like a goddamn canary. Ironic isn't it?"

"What?"

"That a committed exponent of torture like him has such an aversion to pain. What in the hell did you do to his shoulder, by the way? It took surgeons an hour to dig the bullet out. Looked like it had been impacted into the wound!" Daniels smiled humourlessly. Colby merely shrugged, preferring to gloss over the interrogation he had carried out earlier.

"Lucky for us. If he hadn't been so, _co-operative_, half of LA would be a radioactive fuckin' wasteland right about now, Mark."

"True." Daniels nodded. "Well, Agent, you know the drill. From the top, if you please."

"You've had my report. I emailed it to you before I left LA."

"Yeah, I know, but you know me, CJ. I like to hear it straight from the horse's mouth."

Colby laughed. "Once an interrogator, always an interrogator, huh, Mark?"

Daniels shrugged. "Back at ya, buddy."

Colby sighed. The debriefing had begun already. For the rest of the journey back to The Farm he recounted the entire story to Daniels. He left almost nothing out. Except for one thing. His passionate reunion with Diane. He figured that even spies were entitled to have at least _some _kind of private life…

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The sedan rolled to a stop in front of the barrier at Langley. A brief check and they were waved through by the security guards. The car pulled up to an entrance and another suited man pulled open the door, stepping back respectfully as Colby climbed out of his seat. "Welcome back to Langley, sir!" The agent smiled warmly at Colby and Granger's eyes widened as he recognised the man.

"Frank? _Frank Dicks_?"

"The very same! Good to see you, CJ." He extended a hand in greeting and Colby shook it, grinning broadly at Frank.

"So they got you too, huh buddy?" Colby laughed. "Knew they would." The men walked up the steps as they talked.

"My last tour in Afghanistan finished eleven months ago. Got my discharge papers and the bastards were waiting for me on my Mom's goddamn front porch for me! Seriously. Didn't even give me a chance to change my freakin' shirt!" Frank laughed, ignoring the senior figure of Daniels as he ridiculed his new employers. Daniels chuckled.

"Goddamn it, what _is _it with you ex-Rangers? Jees, give me ex-Marines any freakin' day! Damn sight more respectful to their superiors, that's for sure!" He waved them through the security check and towards an elevator. Colby and Frank shared a look, a twinkle of amusement in their eyes.

"Oh, c'mon, Daniels! I thought that the modern agency encouraged independence of spirit?" Colby's voice was mocking. Daniels frowned at the man.

"You been reading books again, Colby? That's dangerous talk, buddy. Independence of spirit indeed! What goddamn agency you work for anyway?"

"FBI, buddy. FBI…"

The lift doors pinged closed on the good-natured banter.

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Colby looked through the two-way mirror, his powerful arms crossed over his chest. In the next room Aranamov sat, his shackled wrists resting on the table in front of him, his hands clenched. He looked pale, haggard and very, very frightened. Colby stared at the pitiful figure that sat hunched in the hard wooden chair. He should have felt hatred towards the man. Anger. A lust for revenge. But he felt nothing. A hollow sensation filled him – a detachment that he would never have expected to feel…

"He's still protesting his innocence. He's given up every single name, his entire organisation, everything. Except for how, where and more importantly to _whom _he gave that goddamn file. The one you and Diane retrieved was a copy, Colby. The original is still out in the wind." Daniels frowned. "We've got no direct proof, Col. Nothing to tie him to it except some kinda opportunist attempt at selling it to the highest bidder. I seriously don't think this dumb-ass actually realised what he had hold of."

Colby turned his head sharply. "You're kidding me, right?"

"We know there's a third party involved other than Clarkson, bud." Frank spoke softly from a corner of the room. "Someone who want's to see the entire allied intelligence community wiped out. Ya know. Someone with the old 'my enemy's enemy is my friend' kinda fucked up logic reasoning." Frank shrugged. "But that son of a bitch won't tell us who. And Clarkson's fighting us tooth and nail all the way down. He knows he's finished so he's got nothin' to loose. The only clue we might have to the identity of the third man is that he _may _be a Brit."

Mark Daniels took a sip of coffee. "Brits have gone fucking nuts over this one, CJ. And man, you _know _what their people are like when they're pissed."

Colby nodded. "Yeah. Believe me, I know. I worked with their people out in Afghanistan. It's like pissing off a freakin' pitbull. You _know _they're gonna chew your fucking head off, but my god will they ever be polite to you when their doin' it! Frightens the shit outta people." Colby turned away from the window and looked directly at the other two CIA agents. "What worries me is that this guy who bought the file from Aranamov is still free and clear. This copy was Aranamov's insurance. Ya know. In case the deal went south."

"What'ya thinkin' CJ?" Frank looked at his old friend.

"I'm thinkin' that there's a damn good chance that by now there's more than one copy of that file in the wind, buddy. We've retrieved one copy, but hey, that's what I'd do." He shrugged. "Makes sense."

"And _that's _why I like you, Colby Granger. You're a devious son of a bitch, ain't ya? Think like a freakin' terrorist." Daniels smiled humourlessly.

"If you wanna know your enemy, _be _your enemy. The Art of War, my friend. A certain British female military officer I know taught me that particular golden nugget." Colby flickered a cold smile. "Like I said. Goddamn psychotic, those SAS bastards. But man, I'd have them at my back any day. You gotta admit, they know what they're doing." Colby picked up a file and opened the door of the observation room. "Guess it's time we talked to our nervous Russian in there, huh?" He looked directly at Frank, his green eyes hard. "Watch and learn, buddy. Watch and _learn._" He closed the door behind him and Daniels and Frank Dicks watched as he reappeared a few seconds later through the door of the interview room.

Aranamov jumped as the door opened and his eyes widened as Colby walked into the room. Colby ignored the man, seeming to study the file intently. He walked around to the other side of the table and casually pulled out the chair, his eyes never leaving the file. He sat down in front of Aranamov and finally, when he was good and ready, looked up at Aranamov, fixing him with a piercing stare. "This does not end well for you, my friend." The statement was matter of fact and stone cold. Aranamov curled a lip in contempt at his inquisitor.

"What are you going to do, tovarishch?" The Russian term of endearment was condescendingly spoken, Aranamov almost spitting the word in Colby's face. "Punch my shoulder again? Huh?" He smiled. "You caught me by surprise last time. This time?" He shrugged painfully and defiantly, sneering at Colby. "I'm _expecting _it. You've lost the element of surprise, _my friend_."

Colby grinned cheerfully. "Don't mean it wouldn't still hurt like a son of a bitch, buddy." Colby laughed quietly and casually discarded the file onto the table. "Nah. Don't you worry, Demitri. I ain't gonna pound on ya, as much as I'd _really_ fuckin' enjoy it. I'm just here to baby-sit your ass until the Brits get here. We kinda been working on this one as a joint operation. And seeing as we know your contact is a Brit anyways, there's a certain lady who wants to talk to you _real _bad, man." Colby sat back and crossed his arms, his face impassive. "Gotta say buddy, we're pissed at you for the whole LA bomb shit but the Brits?" He shrugged. "Man, they're gonna fuckin' _crucify _you!" He raised an eyebrow in sinister amusement. "See Demitri, I made Diane a promise a long, long time ago. I promised her that when we found your sorry ass, you were all hers. And buddy? I'd keep one hand on your crotch and the other on that silver cross around your neck because she's fit to cut your goddamn _dick _off!"

"I'm not frightened of some _woman_, Agent! And your attempts to intimidate me are pointless." A smug look descended over Aranamov's face.

Colby's eyes widened in mock amusement at the show of defiance from the captive Russian. "Really? Dude, do you have _any idea _what the SAS do to people who piss them off?"

Aranamov's face changed instantly and he swallowed. "SAS?"

"Uh-huh." The smile vanished from Colby's face. "Just had one of those, '_oh shit'_ moment's, Demitri? Finally realise what you're mixed up with?" The American let out a short, sharp laugh. "Oh man, I have _gotta _get me some popcorn and a soda for this one because buddy?" He suddenly sat forward, his face deadly serious and deeply threatening. Aranamov flinched and Colby smiled nastily. "This is gonna be a fuckin' _masterclass!"_

In the observation room Frank frowned. "What in the hell is he doing?"

Daniels smiled quietly. "Colby and Diane Armstrong used to work as a team, Frank. The best damn interrogators in the business. There ain't _nobody _who can do good cop, bad cop like those two. Right now? He's psyching Aranamov out. The anticipation of fear. It makes a detainee more, shall we say, _suggestible_ to taking an easier option if they think that the alternative is really gonna be as bad as their imagination is telling them it's gonna be. Sometimes, Frank, it's all you need. The mere suggestion." Daniels looked at the junior agent, his smile gone. "Only with these two, the threat is real."

Frank frowned again. "I don't get it…"

Daniels sighed quietly. "It means, buddy, that she really _will _cut his dick off…."

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Colby stared impassively at Aranamov, a quiet smile on the corners of his lips. Aranamov scowled at the American. "So. No questions, Agent?"

"Nope." Colby relaxed back into the chair, his hands clasped behind his head. Aranamov fidgeted in his chair and Colby continued to stare blankly at the man. "Unless, of course, you wanna tell me somethin' that you think I might like to hear, Demitri." Colby raised an eyebrow.

"I've told your people everything."

"Oh, not _everything, _buddy. For instance. You haven't told us who you gave that file to. We know this one was a copy." He picked up the plain, buff file that he had discarded earlier on the table. "Where's the original?"

"No I haven't told you about that, have I?" Aranamov smiled nastily. "Worried, Agent? Worried that there might be a second file out there?"

"Do you even _know _what that file was?"

"Five million dollars worth of paper, tovarishch. That's all it was to me." He leaned forward. "But I get the feeling it was more important to your people than it ever was to me." Aranamov was back on familiar territory for a few moments. Verbal inquisitor's chess…

Colby shrugged nonchalantly. "Nah. Not really. Ya see, that file you had? Well, here's the killer, Demitri. It was a dud. Worthless. And when your contact finds out that you've conned him outta five million dollars, dude, is he ever gonna be pissed at you!" Colby grinned brightly. "Man, you are _really _wracking up the enemies, ain't ya? Ya know, I'm tempted to let you run, just to see how far you get!" Colby snapped his fingers. "Hell, I forgot! The guys over at Bin Laden Central ain't gonna be too pleased either, are they? I mean, I'm pretty sure that by now they're well aware that the LA bomb failed and guess who supplied them with the stuff?" He pointed at the Russian. "Yep. So let's work this through." He counted off on his fingers. "That's us, the Brits, Al Q'aeda, our anonymous buyer and everyone else involved in this operation and their all pointing the finger of blame at you, buddy!" He laughed again, holding up his fingers. "Man, there ain't _nowhere_ you're gonna be able to hide!"

In an instant the smile vanished and Colby sat forward suddenly, fixing the Russian with a stare that nailed him to the chair. Aranamov was transfixed by the green orbs that seared into his own frightened, brown eyes. Suddenly, he felt a very gentle hand on his shoulder. He had been so occupied in his verbal sparing with the American that he failed to notice the door of the room opening silently and a shadowy figure slipping into the room. Diane Armstrong stood behind the Russian. A band of silver shone on her finger and, flexing a couple of muscles in her hand, Aranamov felt a pressure point yield to the hard metal of her Shobu ring. The pressure was slight, but enough to cause a wave of nausea to flood his body. He knew instinctively that any increase in pressure would bring pain, not mere sickness. But he couldn't look back. He couldn't look away from those hellish green eyes that burned into his own.

"Like I said." Colby finally spoke, his voice a soft, menacing whisper. "This does _not _end well for you, my friend…

In the observation room Daniels turned to Frank Dicks, his face serious. "Frank, I know you and Colby have been friends for a long time. I gotta ask you. You sure you wanna see this, buddy?" The question chilled Frank to the bone…

_**TBC…..**_

_**Author's note: This is the last chapter until after the Christmas holidays, so I'd like to take this chance to thank everyone who has taken the time to read the story and especially to those who have given such wonderful reviews. The story is now on a couple of weeks hiatus and will return in the New Year. Happy holidays, everyone! Best wishes, Kes.**_


	20. Checkmate

Disclaimer

Blah. Blah, blah, blah don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. Blah, blah, blah, blah, own story and Diane Armstrong. Fill the blah blah's in for yerselves…

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"Why did Colby tell him the file was fake?" Frank's mind was doing somersaults. He was trying not to think about what his old army buddy was doing to Aranamov in that interrogation room. He was also desperately trying to figure out another problem as well…

Frank Dicks knew how good Colby Granger was at interrogation. The three years he had spent as an army interrogator had made Colby a legend amongst Special Forces. Teamed up with Armstrong, they could get anything out of anybody with the minimum of fuss. Clinical, almost. The reason Colby was so good at his job was the mere fact that he was such a likeable man. A gentle, honourable man. Trustworthy. But underneath? Utterly ruthless. It was that veneer of respectability that put his opponents off guard when his alter ego made an appearance. It was usually the last thing the opponent remembered before spilling their guts, both metaphorically and, sometimes, if Armstrong had anything to do with it, literally. Frank knew that they had to find out who the intermediary was. But his stomach still tightened at the thought that the Colby Granger he knew would be willing to resort to any form of physical coercion. He couldn't, _wouldn't _allow himself to even _think _the word…torture…

"To take away any bargaining advantage Aranamov might have _thought _he had over Colby." Daniels smiled. "By telling him that the file was the work of our dis-information department with too much time on their hands, Colby gains the advantage. You never played chess, then?" Daniels raised an eyebrow at Frank. "It's a bluff. Well, double-bluff, really."

"So the file's real?"

"Some of it, yes."

Frank stared through the window, his face unreadable. The file might be fake. All _this_ for a worthless bunch of paper? Daniels took a mouthful of coffee from a Styrofoam cup and winced at the taste of the cold, bitter liquid. He sighed in disgust at the vile beverage and discarded the remains in a bin. "I told you, Frank. Nobody does good cop, bad cop like those two."

"Who's the good cop?" Frank had to know for sure. He had to know if his friend, whom he knew to hold life so highly in regard, was actually a brutal torturer, willing to inflict the same kind of pain on others that he had been subjected to himself. Perhaps through his own vicious ordeal he had become desensitised to pain in others. Frank hoped he was wrong. Daniels looked darkly at the rookie agent.

"Colby. He's the good cop." Frank let out a sigh of relief, but Daniels fixed him with a look so chilling it froze Frank's blood in its veins.

"_Most _of the time, anyway…"

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Aranamov didn't understand what was happening to him. His world was plunging into a dark hell of raw fear. Finally he got to taste the bitter medicine that he had so often casually ordered to be inflicted on others. His shackled hands strained against the metal handcuffs as sheer panic filled him. Despite his reputation as a brutal killer and vicious war criminal, Aranamov was an abject coward. He was a master manipulator of men. That and that alone had been the foundation of his reputation. He was only brave with a gun in his hand. Then? Oh, yes, most certainly he was the murderer of legend. But now he was completely out of control of the situation and that scared the shit out of him. He felt alone. Helpless. Terrified. He knew that the powerfully built man sitting opposite him was capable of violence. Vicious, emotionless violence. But what chilled him even more was the cold vacuum of black malevolence that stood behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. It felt like the hand of Death itself. It was a presence, an unknown quantity in his mind that practically screamed at his senses. All he could feel was a light pressure on his upper shoulder, close to the base of his neck. He flickered his eyes to the right and saw elegant, tapered fingers – and a silver ring…

A silver ring that awakened a crashing memory into the forefront of his mind. The clue he had been searching for all along. A visual prompt that made his world implode. He finally knew who his inquisitors were. Two faceless, nameless agents that five years previously had been given up to him as Allied Forces spies by his very own mole within the American army. A mole that had been driven by greed and cowardice to barter the names of his own comrades for the sake of a quick buck. He had given Aranamov the names of the two agents as they closed in on the Kosovo end of his operation. They knew he had been importing former Soviet weapons via Kosovo and into the waiting arms of any terrorist willing to pay top dollar for them. There was no cloak and dagger secrecy here. This was purely business. That's what had made the agent's lives so cheap…

He had given the names of the two agents to his contacts in the Secret Police of that war-torn country, still on its knees after a bitter civil war and still deeply suspicious of western agents. The two agents had been arrested after a desperate chase through the rain-soaked midnight streets of Pristina. Of course, he'd never met them. Everything had been done through the anonymity of the Internet and emails. The two agents had gone down fighting and had resisted for weeks against horrific and very physical torture. He'd had reports back – reports of a powerfully built, softly spoken American and a British woman. The woman had been wearing an unusual silver ring. A ring that, in her expert fingers, could cause agonising pain. It had aroused his interest and he had researched the Shobu ring. He knew exactly what they were for, who wore them and what they looked like. They were for killing people, they were worn by Ninja and they looked _exactly_ like the one that now rested on his shoulder…

The battered bodies of the two agents had been handed back in an exchange Aranamov himself had brokered. He may have been a coward, but he was a clever one. He had absolutely no scruples about working for anyone and everyone willing to pay him. He was nothing more than an old-fashioned mercenary. His cunning had kept him alive for years, and he had prospered from having an incredible ability to be able to generate _just _enough trust in his respective employers to stop them from wanting to kill him on the spot. The CIA had paid him to set up a deal with the Secret Police. Aranamov had liased between the two sides, carefully playing one against the other, and not once thinking of the agony suffered by the two agents. It had resulted in the exchange of the two military spies – now worthless to the Secret Police – for two dissidents that were of a much higher value. In a scene reminiscent of an old 1960's spy film the exchange had taken place in the middle of a forest on the border of Kosovo and Serbia.

Daniels had been the pick-up agent for the Company and, despite a strong constitution honed by years of covert operations, even he had been sickened to see the physical and mental abuse that the two agents had suffered in the hands of their torturers. The British had immediately taken Armstrong back to Hereford. Daniels knew they would take care of the woman in their own way. The SAS looked after its own, their regiment renown for utter loyalty to one another. Granger was airlifted to a base in Germany for immediate medical attention. Once he was physically able to be moved, they had flown him straight back to Washington. The hardest part of his recovery happened there, as the doctors worked not only to put his beaten body back together, but his shattered mind as well. It had taken months, with Colby under continual psychological evaluation and therapy. He had _hated _every second of it. To him, the constant repetition of people asking him "how he was _feeling_" was almost as harrowing as the actual torture had been. He didn't _want _to think about how he was feeling. He didn't _want _to analyse every emotion, every nightmare, every possible trigger that could bring on a flashback. _He didn't want those memories. _All he wanted to do was bury them so deep that he would never, _ever _have to look at them again…

And right here, right now…in that small, claustrophobic room, sat Colby and Diane's demon made flesh. Aranamov sensed a deep, predatory menace coming in waves from both behind and in front of him. The two agents didn't only want information. They wanted _revenge_. Despite his cowardice, Aranamov's instinct for self-preservation kicked in. Revenge was an emotion. And emotions could be played with… Tell them a little bit here, a little bit there. Keep them interested. Keep them coming back for more. But above all, _keep them from hurting him_. Get out of this alive and somewhere, sometime, he would find a dark alley, pay two assassins to lay in wait and dispose of these two monsters once and for all. But now, negotiate. Play for that time he so badly needed. His fox-like cunning calculated the moves. He was an accomplished chess player and had adapted the strategy skills of the board to benefit his own business dealings. This, to him, was now just another business negotiation. The fear was still a white-hot knot in the pit of his stomach but, like a cornered rat, he had no choice. He had to try and predict each move before it happened. He was counting on the fact that his opponents were mere android soldiers who were not chess players.

Trouble was, they _did_ know how to play chess…

Colby's face was impassive. He studied the man sitting opposite him as he would an opponent across a board. He knew exactly how Aranamov's game would play out. Colby smiled inwardly. 'He'd make a lousy poker player,' he thought to himself. Colby had spotted at least two "tells" – involuntary tics or twitches that would give a person's hand away in a game of Texas Hold'em. The tiniest narrowing of Aranamov's gaze had told Colby that the man was intending to resist. He could also see how paper-thin that resistance was going to be. He could practically hear Aranamov's brain calculating each move and counter move. And all the while, that unnerving presence behind him. Diane wasn't calculating a chessboard of intrigue. She was merely calculating how many different ways she could kill the man and which one she preferred at the moment. Her gentle hand belayed the explosive rage that burned inside her. That was the big difference between her and Colby.

Colby knew when to stop…

"What do you want to know?" Aranamov moved his first pawn. Show the interrogator you're willing to talk.

"Simple really, buddy. Who gave you the file?" Colby's voice was level and stony cold.

"I don't understand. What file?" Show a little resistance. Show that you won't bend easily. Confirm that you have something they want and that, for the right price, you're willing to give it up. Make sure that they…

The pain that so utterly derailed his train of thought was like nothing Aranamov had ever experienced. The ring, its smooth hard surface of the raised dome that sat on the plain silver band glinting briefly, pressed into his neck. Just the _subtlest _of touches, but it was enough. A torrent of pain flowed down his spine and flooded through his body like a tsunami. An unstoppable flood of acid-burning agony that crashed through every vein, every artery and every nerve. He couldn't breathe. Nothing else filled his mind except that pain. It attacked every part of his body like a churning mass of Piranha. The scream lodged in the back of his throat like a golfball, choking him. The pressure eased and the pain seemed to flow back to its point of origin, just leaving a burning pinprick of agony. The skin throbbed where the ring had rested so briefly. Aranamov finally gasped and his head slumped forward onto his chest.

Colby leaned forward and spoke, his voice soft. "We know how to do this without leaving a _single _mark, my friend. Not one…_single_…mark…" He sat back. "The file. Who gave it to you?"

Aranamov groaned softly and slowly lifted his head. Pain-filled brown eyes stared back at Colby. The realisation had dawned on him that Colby was not playing the same game he was. Colby's chesspawns weren't carrying swords. They were carrying fucking _grenades_… He opened his mouth to speak, desperate to negotiate his way away from a repeat visit to a world of pain…

In the observation room, Frank gently lowered Daniel's lifeless body onto the floor, cradling the man's broken neck with one hand. He stood up quickly and glanced into the interrogation room. He stepped back a couple of paces, raised his gun and adjusted his grip to counter the extra barrel-weight of the silencer. He paused for a second and looked directly at Colby a brief look of remorse in his eyes. "I'm sorry, buddy. I _really _am…" He squeezed the trigger and the first shot smashed through the mirror in an explosion of glass…

**_To Be Concluded…_**


	21. The Past is a Distant Land

The Past is a Different Land…

Disclaimer

To conclude, for the _upteenth time_ and for those who didn't get it the other twenty times (you know who you are, lawyers…) I do not own anything to do with Numb3rs. I don't write for Numb3rs, I don't shift scenery for Numb3rs and I'm not married to anyone on the crew of Numb3rs. I'm a mere fan, labouring under the misapprehension that people might actually want to read this drivel…

I do, however, own the story and the character of Diane Armstrong. And that's non-negotiable. (Unless you're a producer on Numb3rs then baby, I'll negotiate you the rights in a _flash…_)

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The glass erupted into the interrogation room. Colby's eyes widened as he saw a bullet punch a hole in the centre of Aranamov's forehead. In an instant he hit the floor and rolled, slamming into the wall beneath the shattered mirror with a grunt. A punch of pain slammed him in the kidney and he gasped. Colby put his hand to his side and brought it back. His hand was covered in blood. One of the bullets had hit him in the side, carving a flesh wound through his skin and muscles. "God_damn it!"_ He grimaced in pain as fragments of glass rained down on him and he threw his arm over his head to protect himself against further injury. He closed his eyes for a second and focused on the throbbing, white-hot pain in his side, willing it to slow to a dull ache. "DIANE!" His voice was harsh as he tried to mask the agony from her. He had to know she was alive…

"STAY DOWN!" Diane moved quickly, staying low as she ran for cover. The shooter had emptied six shots into the room. The bullet with Colby's name on it had been deflected as some of its energy had been dissipated by the glass. But the bullet intended for Aranamov had journeyed to its mark perfectly. A second shot had taken him in the centre of his chest – a pointless but standard assassin's procedure. The other three? Well, if he was lucky, one of them may have found its mark in Diane. But her response to Colby's cry of her name told Frank Dicks that now would be a very, _very _good time to run…

No more bullets came. Colby heard a door slam and nodded to Diane. He rolled painfully to his left and, gritting his teeth against the next bolt of fire he knew would slam into him when he moved, sprang to his feet and brought his gun around in an arc through the shattered window. As he moved he tried to stifle the gasp of pain as the flesh wound reminded him that rolling was _not _a good idea. The observation room was empty, except for Daniel's lifeless body slumped against a wall. The blue eyes were open, blank, staring through Colby and into the unknown. Colby knew there was nothing he could do to help the man. "Oh _no_..." The pain in his side went unnoticed. It was the punch in his gut as he realised whom the third man really was that nearly dropped him to his knees. All these years. Their friendship in Afghanistan, the times they had watched out for each other, watched each other's backs in the middle of battle. Now? Total betrayal. Frank Dicks had betrayed him not once, but twice. Colby felt humiliated and sick to his soul…

An explosive, icy cold rage started to fill him. Everything he'd been through. Every agonising second he had lain in that cold, dank cell in Kosovo, waiting for the footsteps to echo down the corridor towards him promising pain with every step, the anticipation as horrific as the event itself. The living hell David - his friend and partner - had gone through because Diane had been forced to take an extreme gamble to flush the real traitor out. The whole, horrible wasp's nest of memories opened up and smashed through to the surface, roaring inside his head like an angry swarm. Colby tensed, feeling the rage course through him, welcoming its release. His eyes closed as he allowed the rage to focus to a pinpoint of intent and slowly opened them again.

Diane looked into the room, her own gun still holstered but a glint of metal in the palm of her right hand. "Dicks." Her voice was flat, emotionless.

"Dicks." Colby looked at her intently.

"You're bleeding there, sweetheart." Diane's voice was soft, tinged with concern. She nodded to his blood-soaked shirt. Colby glanced down and then shrugged.

"I know. Hurts like a bitch."

Without waiting for a response, Colby turned and ran to the door, wrenching it open. Every step he took was agony, but by now the rage and a bucketful of adrenaline was coursing through his body. He ignored the pain. He had a job to do.

A job to _finish…_

Outside the two rooms, pandemonium had broken out. Colby and Diane ran into the corridor just in time to see Frank's retreating back. Two agents lay dead or dying on the floor. The rest had dropped down to the floor or were seeking cover from the hail of bullets Dicks had unleashed as he hit the corridor at a flat run. A siren screamed in the background. Colby bellowed with rage. "FRANK! DON'T MAKE ME SHOOT YOU IN THE BACK, YOU _SON OF A BITCH! __**FRANK!**_"

The fleeing man kept running, but as he ran he turned and brought his gun up, his eyes gazing into his friend's for the last time. He could see the word written clearly in Colby's eyes. _Traitor._ It didn't matter any more…

As Frank's gun barrel levelled, Colby fired a single shot. At that instant, Diane's right hand moved and a blur of metal erupted from her fingertips, spinning its way through the air. The Shuriken embedded itself into Frank's exposed throat as the bullet blasted into his skull. Both kill shots. Neither of them would ever know which was the final death shot…

Frank Dicks' body was thrown backwards, his back arching and his arms flung outwards. He crashed to the floor and lay motionless, dead eyes staring up at the ceiling tiles of a nameless corridor. Blood oozed from the bullet hole in his forehead, trickling down his temple and neck, finally mingling with the blood that poured from the gaping wound in his neck, the flesh ripped apart by the razor-sharp edges of the throwing star. Frank's gun clattered out of his hand and lay spinning on the smooth floor, its progress slowing until it finally came to rest, the muzzle pointing directly at Colby.

Silence descended, punctuated only by the howling siren. Colby stood absolutely still, staring at the scene before him. He felt the rage flood out of him, pooling at his feet like the blood that pooled at the base of Frank's neck. In that moment, he felt utterly calm. Diane moved silently to the prone man, crouching beside him and searching for a pulse in his neck she knew wouldn't be there. She looked up at Colby and shook her head. Colby's eyes closed slowly.

It was over.

He felt his knees start to buckle as the flesh wound reminded him of its presence and the amount of blood he'd lost subsequently. Two strong but gentle arms slipped under his own and he was lowered carefully to the floor, supported in the arms of Diane Armstrong. "Hey, easy there, big fella!" She cradled the back of his head with her hand, "It's over, CJ. It's over." She rested his head on her chest, her arm wrapped protectively around his powerful shoulders. Despite her reputation as a brutal killer, Diane Armstrong did care. And she cared deeply about the man who lay in her arms right now. It wasn't just the pain of the wound that tormented him, she knew that. It was the collective pain of years of dark nightmares, of memories buried deep within the man's soul. Memories she shared as well. This had been a release for both of them. She closed her eyes, desperately trying to fight the tears that welled up, poised to tumble down her cheeks. Tenderly, she kissed Colby's forehead and stroked a stray lock of hair back into place. A single tear escaped and rolled slowly across her skin. "It's _over…_"

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The early evening sun sparkled on the surface of the water, the only sounds those of birdsong and the gentle slap of waves lapping onto the banks of the lake. Colby stared out over the water, his eyes fixed on the bobbing float of his fishing line. He breathed deeply, ignoring the twinge in his side from the bullet wound that still smarted when he moved. With every breath, he relished the absolute peace and tranquillity of this glorious wilderness. Here, he was a million miles and a lifetime away from the past. Here, the past was a different land. One shrouded in a dark cloud, its features finally beginning to blur from his memory. He felt the warmth of the sun on his face and tipped his head up towards it, closing his eyes against the glare. For the first time in years, he finally felt at peace…

Don Eppes leaned back against the car and watched the man sitting by the edge of the lake, oblivious to everything except the moment he was in. Don smiled. It was good to see _Colby_ again; not just some unknown and unknowable spy, but the man he had come to like and respect over the past few years… He reached through the passenger window and his hand closed around the six-pack of beer. It seemed like an appropriate apology for disturbing the man's peace.

Colby heard soft footsteps behind him and turned abruptly. Don stopped and held up the beer. "Don!" Colby grinned broadly.

"Hey Col. Thought you'd appreciate a beer, buddy!" Don stepped forward and slid on the loose gravel that led down to the water's edge. He sat down heavily with a grunt, pulled a can free of its plastic restraint and held it out to his friend.

Colby took the beer, shaking his head and chuckling quietly to himself. "How in the hell did you find me?"

Don pulled the ring tab on a can of beer and grinned. "Well, ya know, I _do _work for the FBI. Kinda what we do. Find people." He took a mouthful of beer and swallowed. "Besides. Your director called my director. Gave us a full briefing." He paused and looked straight at the man. "I'm sorry it happened that way, Col. I know Dicks was a friend of yours."

"Guess I kinda know how David felt now, huh?" Colby shrugged and opened his own beer, staring out over the water.

"It doesn't even compete, Col. You were _never_ a traitor. Dicks was. That's a world of difference in my book. David's too." He followed Colby's gaze out over the lake, watching a crimson sun sinking slowly below the mountains. "Man, this is one _beautiful_ place, Colby! I'm beginning to see the attraction of fishing, buddy, I really am!" He grinned broadly at Colby and raised his beer in toast before taking another drink.

Colby laughed quietly. "Yeah. _Usually_ it's pretty peaceful around here." He raised an eyebrow at Don but returned the toast. "_Usually_."

Don's head dropped, an apologetic smile on his face. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. But I thought we'd better talk through a couple of things, ya know? Just you and me." He looked straight at Colby, his expression now serious. "I know they've offered you another job, Colby. At Langley."

"What, the desk job?" Colby grunted. "Yeah. And you'll know I've turned it down, right?"

"Why?"

Colby looked surprised. "Why? _Seriously_?"

Don shrugged. "It's a hell of a promotion, buddy."

"It's a freakin' _desk job_!" Colby's voice was indignant. Don couldn't help but chuckle again.

"And that's just not you, is it?"

"Oh yeah! Sure! Can you honestly see me sat behind a desk all goddamn day? I'm a _field _agent, Don. Not a fucking paper pusher!" Colby suddenly became serious. "Besides." He sighed deeply. "I've had enough. I don't wanna be part of that world any more."

"I thought you said spies didn't retire."

"I didn't say I was retiring, buddy." He looked out over the lake, searching for answers…"I just don't want to be part of _their _twisted, political bullshit any more. They've had me and Diane dancing like a couple of puppets for too long. We've been fighting this battle for over five years, Don. Now?" He looked straight at Don. "It's over. Finally. Me and Diane'll get given a couple of medals that we can't tell anyone about, the file'll get red-stamped and buried in some vault somewhere, an embarrassment to everyone concerned. And tomorrow?" He shrugged. "Well, tomorrow it'll be some poor other son of a bitch's turn, with their own private hell to go through." He looked deep into Don's eyes. "I didn't retire, Don. I _quit." _

"Hmm." Don watched the sun sink lower. He paused for a while. "So, you're kinda at a loose end then, huh?" He looked at Colby, who merely shrugged. "You could always help the FBI catch some bad guys in LA, Col." He took another drink of beer. "Cause, at my last reckoning, you were still on the payroll, bud. You got a pile of paperwork on your desk that's threatening to topple over onto David's desk, and he ain't pleased about that." He looked back at his friend, ignoring Colby's groan at the mention of paperwork. "We could do with you back on the team, Colby. How 'bout Monday morning?" It wasn't a request. Colby laughed quietly.

"Monday?" Don nodded. "I'll be there."

"Good." Don drained the last drops of beer from the tin and put it down in front of him. He studied the empty tin, nervous about his next words. "So…Diane…"

"…Is back in England. As far as I know." Colby's interruption was sharp, cutting Don dead. "She's…yeah. She's gone." Don could hear the hurt in Colby's voice.

"She's one hell of a woman."

"Yeah." Colby's voice was soft.

"A complete _lunatic,_ obviously, but one hell of a woman, nevertheless. Guess she's never gonna win a popularity contest with David, but I think I understand her a bit more than I did." Don laughed. "She's a lot like you, Col."

"How so?" Colby sounded genuinely puzzled.

Don laughed out loud this time. "Complicated, buddy. Fucking complicated. And yeah, a little bit crazy too. " He looked serious for a moment. "But, like you, she believes passionately in right and wrong. I may not get your methods, Col, but I get the motivation, I really do. Why the hell do you think I joined the FBI in the first place? You see? We're all on the same side, my friend. We're a _team._ And you're part of that team. An important part." Don stood up and patted Colby's shoulder. "Monday morning, Colby. I expect you in on time. Are we clear?" Colby nodded and smiled. Without another word, Don walked back to the car leaving Colby to enjoy the last of the evening sun across the lake and the peace Don knew he craved so much…

On a hilltop road overlooking the lake, a figure stood looking down through binoculars at the man sitting by the water's edge. The binoculars were lowered slowly and Diane Armstrong smiled gently to herself. "Atta boy, CJ…" She turned and vanished into the wilderness…

As the sun slowly sank behind the hilltop, Colby just sat, letting the peace fill him, recharge him, help to burn away the last of the cancerous memories that had eaten away at him for years. He smiled. Yeah. He really was, _finally, _okay…

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**The End (?)**

_Thanks go to:_

AJ for her frequent kicks up the arse

TheNaggingCube, Jemma, AJ, LilyG, Sarasidle3 and everyone else kind enough to post reviews

Dylan Bruno for bringing Colby Granger to life

CJ (my husband) Technical Support (He hit the computer with a rolled up newspaper when it broke down)


End file.
